


Blood in the Tundra

by FionaBunny



Series: Open Skies [1]
Category: Original Work, Warriors - Erin Hunter
Genre: Animal Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Gotta Love Battle Cats!, Hope you guys like it!, Mild Abuse, Original Cat Clans (Warriors), Original setting, i worked hard on this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:02:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 37,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25737715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FionaBunny/pseuds/FionaBunny
Summary: “There are movements in the tundra, and the beating of wings in a sky without light. We must meet the avalanche head-on if we are to survive, with the stars fading behind us as we go.”The first book in the Open Skies series! May confuse those unfamiliar with the Warriors series by Erin Hunter. These are my original characters in an original tundra setting!Updates every other Wednesday!
Series: Open Skies [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1867006
Comments: 44
Kudos: 38





	1. Chapter 1

###  Prologue 

Dewfreeze regarded the kits suckling at her belly with disdain. Giving birth in No-Sun was a frightening ordeal, and the dark, bitter cold season was no stranger to taking the lives of birthing queens. Knowing she was working to bring beautiful, healthy kits into the world had been her comfort, and now even that had been taken from her.

The elders had taken the stillborn Tanglekit away for burial, and couldn’t perform their usual duty of keeping new mothers and kits warm, so Dewfreeze shared pelts with some senior warriors instead. She heard the remaining members of PineClan milling about outside with their normal duties, but five voices muttered outside the nursing den, and she couldn’t help but eavesdrop. Through the curtain of roots dangling from the pine growing over them, she could see the shapes of her mate and all four of the most important cats in PineClan: their leader, deputy, medicine cat, and consul.

“Tinykit is a runt, and he’s going to die,” she heard the Clan’s medicine cat saying. “He’s far too small, and Brightkit is muscling him away when he tries to drink. It’s simply a fact; we ought not let her get her hopes up.”

“He  _ could  _ grow into a perfectly healthy kit,” the deep voice of her leader insisted, “if you would just let us take away the other one!”

“Brightkit is my  _ son _ !” her mate growled. “I will not allow you to toss my  _ son _ out of camp like so much crowfood!”

“The Warrior Code demands we protect the lives of kits. They are our future,” came the calm voice of their deputy.

“That kit has no future in our Clan, Daisysky!” their leader replied. “He is already at a disadvantage for hunting and patrols because—”

“Because of his pelt? If you can learn to land on your feet without a tail, Amberstar, my son can hunt with an orange pelt just fine!” Despite her exhaustion, Dewfreeze’s ears pricked in surprise. Oxstep, the most loyal warrior she’d ever met, talking back to his leader over their kits? At any other moment, she would have been proud of his loyalty.

“Let that walking target die at the talons of a hawk, then! Less work for me,” Amberstar huffed, storming off. Dewfreeze heard the voice of his deputy following him, calling his name. She heard Oxstep sigh and get to his paws.

“What do you think, Shrewshine?” he asked. “You haven’t said a thing.”

“We should…keep Brightkit,” a fifth, hollow voice said, lilting and pausing in strange, unnatural ways. “There are movements in the tundra, and the beating of wings in a sky without light. We must meet the avalanche head-on if we are to survive, with the stars fading behind us as we go.”

The cats fell silent at Shrewshine’s words. Dewfreeze was uncertain—consuls usually seemed to speak in grim riddles, she’d found—but his tone was one of grave importance. She was just too tired to understand what he meant.

“Uh…. Thank you, Shrewshine. I’ll be going, now.” Oxstep’s heavy paws scuffled in the dirt as he padded towards the den. It was no secret that the consul made him nervous on even a good day.

Oxstep touched noses with his mate as he entered the nursing den and curled up beside her to share pelts, purring at the sight of his two sons. As he entered, a few other cats left to make room for his bulky frame in the small space. Dewfreeze leaned down to shower Tinykit with loving licks and nestle him deeper into her dusty white fur before turning to lean on Oxstep’s shoulder, pressing her face into his fluffy brown pelt. He smelled like bracken and earth, and she sighed, forgetting her troubles for a moment.

“Haven’t you forgotten the other one?” Oxstep asked his mate, sounding worried.

“Ah, yes.” Dewfreeze hid her disgust for her other son from her mate, leaning down to give the orange kit one reluctant swipe of the tongue. But Oxstep was already worried, and gave Dewfreeze a concerned stare. She settled her head on her paws and pretended to fall asleep, hoping he would leave her be.

Instead, Oxstep stood and circled around to where his kits lay at their mother’s belly, ducking his head so it wouldn’t knock against the gnarled roots that formed the nursing den’s ceiling. He took the orange kit between his paws and rasped his tongue over his mussed tabby fur a few times, before curling up to both of them and alternating licks between the two.

“Don’t you worry, little one,” Oxstep whispered into Brightkit’s small body. “I will fight the whole of PineClan to keep you with us. You’re going to be a great warrior, I can already tell. Both of you will, I know it. Now drink your fill while I go get your mother something to eat, so you can both be big and strong!”

Oxstep gave both of his sons a final lick, then coaxed them to nurse at their mother’s side again before leaving to hunt. By the time he was out of sight, Brightkit had pushed Tinykit out of the way in his blind attempts to eat.

Dewfreeze waited until she was sure Oxstep had left camp before kicking Brightkit away, pushing Tinykit closer to her belly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope you enjoy this series; I've been planning it for almost two years now, and I'm excited to finally be able to publish it! Updates should be every week or so. Let me know what you think in the comments, if you'd like!
> 
> You can find me on Twitter as @FionaBuny for art and updates, or even just to chat!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brightkit goes on an adventure.

###  Part One, Chapter One 

Brightkit sat awake in the den as the entirety of PineClan slept around him. He was staring out across the sea of fur within the hollow log, waiting for his father’s signal. The cold was no match for so many thick, fluffy pelts pressed up together, but Brightkit’s fur was short and thin, so he alone shivered among the cozy cats as he waited for Oxstep.

Then, out of the piles of cats, a thick, dark brown tail lifted up and flicked towards the log’s entrance three times. Brightkit stepped around his sleeping clanmates, sneaking out of the main entrance and all the way across the clearing. His paws tingled in the cold snow underfoot, but his pads were used to the familiar burn. He sat down by the stone pass that served as the clearing’s entrance and scanned the empty camp, waiting for his father.

The camp was situated in a hollow at the foot of a rocky outcrop. It was ringed mostly by crumbling boulders and fallen logs, coated in a layer of moss that easily tangled claws, and the branches of the trees spread to obscure most of the sky. Stones sat in the clearing here and there, covered in frost and capped with snow. If it weren’t for the many paw trails criss-crossing the snowy clearing, it would have been easy to trace his path.

Brightkit looked around his home and thought of all the things he loved about PineClan. To his left was the giant flat rock that covered their freshkill stores, and remembered proud mentors holding it up so their apprentices could drop fresh catches onto the pile. Nearby was the corner of camp where Shrewshine liked to sit, staring off into nothing. But because this moon was Open Sky, Shrewshine was out of camp.

To his far right was the medicine cat’s den, a hollow underneath the roots of a massive pine, filled with the sickly sweet smells of herbs and berries. He remembered living there about six moons ago, in the nursing den carved into the far wall, before he was big enough to sleep in the main den with the rest of the Clan. He remembered long conversations with the medicine cat Greylight, much shorter talks with his mother, and nonconsensual play-fights with Firkit.

As Brightkit reflected, a bittersweet feeling crept into his heart. Though he thought of PineClan fondly, the rest of the Clan didn’t seem to feel the same way. That was why, even at fourteen moons old—several moons overdue for an apprenticeship—he was still called Brightkit.

“Brightpaw!”

Brightkit started at his father’s whisper; he hadn’t noticed him until he was halfway across the clearing. He purred happily—he was still Brightkit to most of PineClan, but at least he was Brightpaw to the cat that mattered most.

His father had been sneaking off with Brightkit the past few moons to teach him all sorts of things. He’d learned how to sneak quietly through the brush, how to track a scent, and even some battle moves. To Brightkit though, these were all just different games he and his father played—tonight was his _real_ foray into warriorhood.

“Ready to go?” Oxstep asked, giddy. They’d been planning this trip for moons, but now that Brightkit had gone through two moons of secret training, his father was willing to finally tour PineClan’s territory with him, despite the risk of being caught.

“Am I ever!” Brightkit whispered back, jumping to his paws. Up until now, their training sessions had taken place a few fox-lengths away from camp, so Brightkit could go back quickly when he grew dangerously cold. This would be the first time he saw the full territory.

“Remember to stay close to me,” his father said. “And if you get cold, we can stop to share pelts.”

Oxstep charged out of camp with Brightkit struggling at his heels as they ran straight into the heart of the forest.

Oxstep had recently become an elder, but he was still in peak condition, and it showed. Brightkit scrambled over the logs that his father leapt in a single bound, and clawed through stands of ferns that his father easily barreled through. He wondered in awe if his father had been even stronger in his youth. Spurred on by his excitement, Brightkit raced alongside his father until the trees thinned, the snow underpaw thickening without the cover of the pines. Oxstep stopped just as the trees gave way to sparse brush and thorns, pricking one ear

“Do you hear that, son?” he asked.

Brightkit strained to listen. A bubbling sound came from a few tail lengths ahead, and now that he was paying attention, he saw a black strip of water rushing past, cutting through the snowy landscape.

“That river is our border with FrostClan,” Oxstep explained. “It isn’t smart to get close in No-Sun, since it’s harder to see and easier to fall in, but we should be fine from this distance.”

“What’s it like in FrostClan’s territory?” Brightkit asked, straining to look beyond the trees on the other side of the river. “Do they have a forest, too?”

“From what I remember, FrostClan’s territory is barren, snowy tundra. It’s hard for them to hunt, so most of them fish instead…or come here to eat _our_ prey.”

Brightkit tried to imagine dipping his paws into the frigid water to catch fish. He shuddered and wondered how FrostClan cats didn’t lose their paws doing so.

“That sounds like hard work,” he said, feeling sorry for the poor cats.

“Hard work, certainly, but it gives them no right to steal. FrostClan is an old enemy of PineClan, Brightpaw—don’t give them much of your pity. Let’s keep going.” Oxstep turned downstream, following the river, and Brightkit followed obediently.

The river bent sharply to the left and away into rapids as the land on their right became rocky and rose above their heads. Before long the water disappeared among the rocks, and Brightkit found himself running along a strip of ground between the forest and some mountainous hills. The bitter chill in his paws began to make him stumble, and he turned to ask his father if they could rest.

Before he could speak, Oxstep held his tail up and waved it back and forth. Brightkit froze and fell behind his father, on the lookout for enemies. He followed his father’s gaze to a cliff, where he could faintly make out a cat looking up at the stars. His father signaled for Brightkit to follow him carefully, retreating into the trees.

“Who was that?” Brightkit asked when they were out of earshot.

“That was Shrewshine, I’d assume,” Oxstep said, settling down against a tree. “Come here, my paws are freezing.”

His father nestled into a crook of the roots, among some sage and horehound wilting in the No-Sun snow. Thankful for the chance to warm up, Brightkit pressed into his father’s side and curled his paws up under his belly, wincing as his cold feet touched his skin through his thin fur. Oxstep curled his tail protectively around his son.

“What does Shrewshine do when he leaves during Open Sky every year?” Brightkit asked.

“Well…he goes up there, to a high spot in the hills.” Oxstep looked back the way they had come, though the trees concealed the rocky hills. “He sits and waits to get a message from StarClan.”

“He sits there for a whole _moon_? All alone?” Brightkit was frightened. How could one cat survive in the coldest, darkest part of the season?

“Not all alone,” his father purred in amusement. “He has a special guard assigned to take care of him during Open Sky. They’re specially picked by Amberstar each year, and for the entire moon, they’re called a StarGazer. They hunt for Shrewshine and keep him warm while he waits for StarClan’s prophecy.”

Brightkit thought of Shrewshine, the pure white consul who wandered aimlessly around camp. He rarely left his spot near the den, and spent most days staring off into space. Sometimes he would suddenly gain focus and stare intently at Brightkit. Once or twice he came up to Brightkit and said something odd and vaguely hurtful, then walked back to his spot and stared again. He made Brightkit very uncomfortable, to say the least. He always wondered why such a strange, rude cat was so important to the Clan.

“I don’t think I’d like to be StarGazer,” he concluded.

“Brightpaw! StarGazer is a position of honor! You should be excited at the thought of serving your Clan that way!” Oxstep’s flicked his tail in irritation.

“I’m—I mean, I’m sorry Dad!” Brightkit yelped, pressed up against Oxstep’s side even more. “I mean, I-I just don’t think Shrewshine likes me, is all.”

Oxstep sighed and said nothing for a very long time. He looked through the trees as if searching for something in the dark sky. At one point, he opened his mouth to tell Brightkit something, but shook his head and seemed to decide against it.

“Do you think.… Should we get going?” Brightkit stuttered. He didn’t want Oxstep to be sad on their special night because of his clumsy words.

“Yes. Yes, let’s go.” Oxstep got to his feet and headed northeast, though his tail was still flicking and he seemed lost in thought. Brightkit followed dutifully, worried that his father was upset with him. He worked his lungs to the brink to keep up with Oxstep.

Just as Brightkit decided to ask what was wrong, he spotted a vast white expanse ahead. The two cats bounded through a thin wall of bushes and Brightkit had to stop and balk at the view.

They were in a field that seemed to stretch forever. Even in the dark of No-Sun, Brightkit could tell it was completely covered in thick snow, devoid of trees and rocky ridges.

“A lot of prey make their burrows here, Brightkit—it’s important for you to be familiar with the land. It’s safe now, but during the day you have to keep an eye out for hawks, remember that.”

“H-hawks?” Brightkit had been told countless horror stories of kits and apprentices being carried off by hawks. He’d never seen one, but at this point he’d already developed a fear of them.

“They usually don’t swoop on bigger cats, so you’ll be safe once you’re big enough!”

Brightpaw looked at his bulky father and then down at his thin front legs. He wasn’t exactly cheered by his father’s words.

“Oh! And if you ever smell something vile, kind of like crowfood and stinkweed mixed together, that means you’re getting close to Pack Hills, where the wolves are. Turn back if you ever get that far.”

Brightpaw didn’t even have time to comment before his father added, “And past Pack Hills is the Wasteland, so be _very_ vigilant while hunting here.”

“The Wasteland? Where the evil cats go?”

“Right, son. They won’t usually cross into Clan territory, but you can never know with murderers and thieves like those. But enough of the grim details! We’re safe here, so let’s explore! I have some secret hunting spots I’d like to show you.”

Oxstep padded onto the snowy field. His heavy paws sank in, but he churned through the snow with practiced ease. He stopped and turned to his son, ears pricked and eyes bright.

“What’s wrong, son? Let’s go!”

Brightkit was quivering at the edge of the clearing. All of their games together hadn’t prepared him for this, for the realization that being a warrior was actually, truly _dangerous_.

Under the scrutiny of his father, he took a few tentative steps, immediately sank into the snow, and yowled, his thin fur unable to protect him. He squealed and clawed desperately at the snow, but this only made him sink deeper.

“No, don’t use your claws! Stay calm, Brightpaw, it’s okay.” Oxstep bounded forward and picked Brightkit up by the scruff, dragging the flailing tabby out of the hole he’d created. He placed Brightkit back in the thin snow on the forest floor, licking away the frost clinging to his son’s coat.

“Dad, I can’t! I’m, um, I don’t think I can, I mean,” Brightkit stuttered, shivering violently.

“It’s okay, Brightpaw. I should have shown you how to walk on the snow first. I got a bit too excited…. But we can still hunt on the tundra together! There’s still plenty of time.”

Oxstep waited expectantly for Brightkit’s response, but instead his son looked down at his orange paws, examining how stark they were against the pure white. The only part of him that could blend into the snow was his cream-furred underbelly, and he couldn’t exactly hunt on his back. He glanced at his father’s paws and noticed how long and cozy his fur was, even around his paw pads.

“I don’t think I can, Dad,” he repeated. “It’s too cold, and I’m too…too bright.”

“Nonsense! You’re my son! You’ve got the blood of great hunters in you!” Oxstep stood and took a few steps into the snow. “The trick is to keep your paws as flat as possible, and use your tail for balance. You’ll sink in a little bit, but you get used to it. Take shorter steps, if you have to! Come now, I’ll show you.”

“Oh, will you, now?”

Brightkit skittered away from the booming voice. Somehow, he hadn’t heard the giant tabby tom slinking up behind them. As his father leapt to his cowering son’s side, Brightkit realized who the cat was—Amberstar, the leader of PineClan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope you enjoy this series; I've been planning it for almost two years now, and I'm excited to finally be able to publish it! Updates should be every week or so. Let me know what you think in the comments, if you'd like!
> 
> You can find me on Twitter as @FionaBuny for art and updates, or even just to chat!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oxstep and Amberstar reach a compromise.

###  Part One, Chapter Two 

“I can’t believe this, Oxstep. Has age turned your brain to crowfood? You were a noble warrior once, and now here you are, luring a kit out into the darkness.” Amberstar’s head swiveled and he held eye contact with Brightkit. Every fur on his orange pelt bristled with fear. He was a massive, imposing brown tabby, his scowl and narrowed eyes ever present. The only thing the slightest bit unintimidating about him was his lack of a tail.

“Brightkit is almost fourteen moons old; he is _hardly_ a kit and long overdue for an apprenticeship,” Oxstep said, his voice steady but eerily so. “If you will not allow him to learn our ways, then I will teach him myself. I have a responsibility to see that my son can survive.”

“I would love Brightkit to be formally mentored, but unfortunately, there are no warriors in the Clan who are fit to take on an apprentice,” Amberstar said coolly, still staring at Brightkit.

“What about Nightpatch? Foxfur? Barkface? They are all warriors in their prime without apprentices.”

“Allow me to rephrase: there are no warriors in the Clan fit to take on _Brightkit_. Need I explain why?”

“Yes, Amberstar, explain!” Oxstep hissed, unsheathing his claws. “Explain why despite his eagerness to serve, Brightkit is rejected by his Clan—his _family_!”

Brightkit flinched and hung his head in shame, shivering as a sharp breeze passed through him.

“I am not afraid to tell the kit what he will face. It is the life he will inevitably lead.” Amberstar stepped toward Brightkit. “Brightkit, you are the least useful cat in PineClan. You stand out against everything in our territory’s landscape, from the bracken to the snow. Your pelt is so thin and so bright that even hunting at night would be no help. Brightkit, I tell you the truth: you will never be a warrior. You will never be anything to PineClan but a burden.”

It wasn’t anything Brightkit hadn’t assumed, but to hear it from his own leader in plain speech made his heart sink. He never wanted to see this snowy, empty tundra again—all he wanted to do was go home and curl up in the den.

“Shame on you for not even letting him _try_!” Oxstep hissed, tail lashing.

“I will not have PineClan waste its resources on a cat that will only make us weak,” Amberstar spat, his patience clearly thinning. Brightkit backed away from the two quarreling adults, wondering if they’d even notice if he ran back to camp.

“StarClan should be ashamed that they gave you nine lives! Crushing the spirit of a kit is vile, even for you!”

Amberstar suddenly surged forward and raked his claws through the air, aiming at Oxstep’s throat. Brightkit yelped in horror, and Oxstep jerked backwards, but it seemed their leader had intentionally missed him. Amberstar settled back onto his paws immediately and continued speaking as if nothing had happened. Brightkit cowered and backed away from the two toms, certain that his father would retaliate and start a fight, but instead Oxstep took a few deep breaths as his pelt bristled. Brightkit realized with horror that Oxstep had expected the swipe—did this happen often? How could his leader threaten an elder so violently?

“I refuse to waste my Clan’s resources on a weak link,” Amberstar repeated. “Giving him a mentor would only distract a truly useful cat from strengthening PineClan. I will not allow my Clan to grow soft.”

“Then I’ll do it.”

“An elder cannot take on an apprentice!”

“Then I will leave the elders and become a warrior again.”

“The Clan has already held your ceremony. You can’t—”

“And where in the warrior code does it say I cannot choose to serve my Clan longer?” Oxstep asked, a glint in his eyes. “I have not been injured, I have not weakened. It has hardly been a moon since my ceremony. I am simply an older cat.”

Brightkit looked at his father in awe. Oxstep would leave the comfort of a well-earned retirement, just to train him? If he had ever doubted his father’s love before, he could never doubt it again.

“If you want to be a warrior again, then I certainly will not waste your time—!”

“I’m proposing a compromise, Amberstar,” Oxstep interrupted. “I will revoke my retirement and serve PineClan further, but only if you allow me to mentor my son. If not, I’ll simply remain an elder, and you will lose these last years of my prime. ”

Amberstar hissed under his breath, his gaze flicking back and forth between Oxstep and Brightkit as if weighing his options. Something seemed to pass between the two toms, but Brightkit couldn’t decipher what it was. Finally he scowled and stood, scraping at the snow with his giant claws.

“You will return to camp for the night,” he said, “and in the morning…we will hold your _ceremonies_.”

“Thank you for reconsidering, Amberstar,” Oxstep said, respectfully dipping his head. Brightkit could tell his father was pleased with himself.

Amberstar did not acknowledge Oxstep’s deference, but instead turned and stalked into the forest. Brightkit and his father followed their leader, though Brightkit tried to stay behind, the memory of his leader’s claws so fresh. Oxstep nudged his son and whispered encouragement to him.

“I told you not to give up,” he said. “Don’t look so nervous, son! We’ll train together, just how we’ve been doing, but it won’t be a secret!”

Brightkit’s belly churned, only partially from excitement. He wasn’t sure anymore that being a warrior was worth the constant danger. Plus, part of him _wanted_ their training to stay secret; just him and his father, play-fighting in the woods near camp or wandering around at night. Now, his training would turn into work, and his clanmates would certainly heavily scrutinize his progress.

Oxstep then shifted to walk shoulder-to-shoulder with Amberstar, exchanging whispers with him. Brightkit strained to eavesdrop, but only caught small snippets:

“…He could do great things,” Oxstep was saying.

“But that’s not what Shrewshine said,” Amberstar replied. “You’ve directly disobeyed…”

Their conversation fell in volume, forcing Brightkit to get closer.

“…Put my son before an uncaring Clan, then I will,” Oxstep hissed.

“Just know, Oxstep,” Amberstar said, his tone dark, “that I will not forget this.”

With that, their leader bounded into the darkness, Oxstep trailing close behind. Exhausted, Brightkit tottered after them, unsure what he was feeling anymore.

Word of Oxstep and Brightkit’s nighttime trip and his upcoming apprenticeship spread fast through camp the next day. He woke to the Clan buzzing with gossip, though everyone was still working hard to capitalize on the brief No-Sun daytime.

Several pairs of eyes locked onto him as he left the den, and he froze. Usually, his clanmates ignored his existence outside of rare accusatory glances, and Brightkit now realized that he preferred being ignored. His father was on patrol with Amberstar and a few other cats, so he was left in camp to stew in his own thoughts.

“Brightkit!” a scratchy voice called. Brightkit turned to see PineClan’s medicine cat, Greylight, padding up to him. His apprentice, Bentpaw, trailed behind, partly because of his limping gait and partly because Bentpaw was one of many cats who disliked Brightkit. Brightkit had to admit, though, that the feeling was mutual in this case.

Brightkit and Greylight had been very good friends since his birth. They chatted a lot while Brightkit was growing, since he didn’t have any siblings and his mother rarely spoke to him. Greylight mostly just talked about herbs and healing techniques, but as a kit, Brightkit took what attention he could get. Plus, he couldn’t deny that he found medicine fascinating.

“Hello, Greylight! Hello, Bentpaw!” Brightkit said happily, though he was only glad to see one of them.

“I’ve heard you’re going to be made an apprentice today. Good work!” Greylight said, twisting his head so he could look at Brightkit with his good eye. His right eye was a clear blue, but his left was a cloudy grey, and had been that way since the medicine cat was a kit.

“Thank you, Greylight!” Brightkit purred.

He watched Greylight and his apprentice leave camp, and his heart filled with longing. He knew that, on some level, he was jealous of Bentpaw—he would much prefer serving his Clan from a cozy, sweet-smelling den, chatting happily with Greylight all day. He wished that Greylight hadn’t already taken an apprentice.

Brightkit ripped his envious gaze from Bentpaw just in time to catch sight of his mother, Dewfreeze, heading out of camp as well. She gave him a hard stare, then continued talking with the black-pelted Shadowfall and brown-pelted Sapfur, two other elders. This was not unusual for their interactions. He wondered if Dewfreeze knew that Oxstep was leaving retirement—

“No fair!”

Brightkit screeched as he was tackled across the camp clearing. A thick paw pressed his head into the ground, but he didn’t try to get up, knowing from experience that the tabby cat would just complain louder. Firkit sneered down at him, yellow eyes narrowed.

“He picked _you_ over _me_ ? What kind of leader is he?! I’m nearly twelve moons old, and I have a _normal_ pelt!” she growled, flicking her bristling tail.

Firkit was an enigma to Brightpaw, and one of the other reasons he’d grown so close to Greylight. They’d basically grown up together, and she’d always used him as a way to vent her frustration. He recalled the time she’d kicked him across the den and into the far wall at just two moons old during a tantrum, and felt a phantom throb of pain at the top of his head. It was his earliest memory.

Even so, she was basically his younger sister, and he couldn’t help but think of her fondly...at least, from a distance.

“What did you do to get him on your side, huh? Have you been kissing his hind end or something? What’ve you got that I don’t?”

“Firkit, you let him go! He’s done nothing to you!” Firkit’s mother, the dusky grey queen Frondbreeze, materialized to swat her daughter off of Brightkit’s back.

“Mom, let me talk to him!” Firkit protested as Frondbreeze herded her away. “I’ve got to know!”

“Maybe you aren’t ready for a mentor because you tackle and scream at cats you don’t like!” Frondbreeze snapped as they walked back to the den. “Have you thought about that?”

It wasn’t long after he’d recovered from being bowled over that someone else called his name.

“Brightkit! Wait there!”

Brightkit huffed. Who wanted him _now_? He spotted a cream-colored, long-haired molly across the clearing—the Clan deputy, Daisysky. She had an odd expression on her face, and Brightkit shifted uncomfortably as she stood silent before him. Then she coughed and spoke,

“I heard you’re being mentored now, Brightkit,” she said, her voice warm but distant. Brightkit was never sure if she liked him or not, but she seemed like she wasn’t sure, either.

“That’s right,” Brightkit answered, “my father.”

“Ah.” Daisysky’s face fell, but Brightkit couldn’t figure out how to ask what was wrong. They were nearly strangers, after all. “Well, if you need any…advice, I’m here.”

With that, Daisysky promptly ended the conversation and wandered out of camp with a patrol. Brightkit couldn’t figure out if the conversation had been a formality or a real effort to talk to him.

Finally, the swirl of cats heading out on patrols and hunts died down, and Brightkit was finally able to gather his thoughts. The whirlwind of congratulations and insults and glares left him dizzy, but he didn’t want to go back to the den now, where Firkit was waiting to tackle him again. Instead, he padded over to the rocky border surrounding the camp and clawed his way to the top of a boulder. The moss crunched underpaw from the frost and snagged his claws a few times, but that was the least of Brightkit’s worries.

Nestled in a rare beam of No-Sun daylight, Brightkit pondered what was about to happen. He was glad his days of sitting around camp and doing nothing were over, but he was also sad to see them go. He couldn’t help but think that the ridicule would only get worse from here on out. As his head buzzed with worries, his body grew warm and heavy….

Brightkit glanced around. He was in a field, surrounded by tall, dry grasses that crinkled underpaw. In the distance he could see the roving peaks of mountains and a glacier. He knew the glacier was part of FrostClan territory, and he guessed that one of the mountains was RidgeClan’s, but he didn’t know which one.

When Brightkit tried to step forward, he found his paws lifting off the ground. He panicked and scrabbled for purchase in the dirt, but his claws only tore up the ground as he was lifted. In just a few blinks, he was so high up that he could see PineClan’s forest, FrostClan’s frigid expanse, RidgeClan’s jagged peaks, and even the lake that lay in the middle of all three territories.

Then Brightkit’s ascent stopped, and suddenly the wind was in his fur—he was falling! The ground rushed up to meet him, and he clawed aimlessly at nothing as he twisted in circles. He saw a flash of white snow, heard a loud yowl, and then—

“Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey join beneath the den for a Clan meeting!”

Brightkit yelped and seized up at Amberstar’s voice, then sighed in relief. He’d been dreaming! He must have dozed off waiting for his father’s return.

Amberstar was perched atop the hollow log that was PineClan’s den, Daisysky was on the ground at his side, and cats were streaming into the clearing from all directions. Brightkit thanked StarClan—it would’ve been unforgivable to miss his own apprentice ceremony, especially after Oxstep had fought Amberstar for it! Brightkit bounded to his father’s side at the front of the crowd.

“As you all may have heard,” Amberstar began, his voice half-hiss, “Brightkit is overdue for an apprenticeship. I was hesitant to give him a mentor because of the patience required to attend his…challenges, but the problem has been solved for me. Oxstep, please step forward.”

Cats whispered amongst themselves as Oxstep stood before Amberstar. They had obviously heard the hostility in their leader’s voice, and gossip was immediately traded. Brightkit folded his ears back and tried to ignore the mutterings.

“There is not a common ceremony for this, to my knowledge, but Greylight has told me these words will do. Oxstep, is it your wish to give up the title of elder and rejoin the warriors of PineClan?”

“It is.” Oxstep met Amberstar’s cold gaze.

“Then, by the powers of StarClan, I rename you as a warrior, Oxstep. StarClan honors your strength and your loyalty, and we welcome you back as a full warrior of PineClan.”

The Clan chanted Oxstep’s name, tentatively at first, then growing in enthusiasm. Oxstep turned to look at his celebrating clanmates with pride. Brightkit realized that Oxstep was very well-liked—and that his father was risking that reputation to train him. He chanted his father’s name as well, but a heavy weight formed in his chest.

“Alright, alright! That’s enough!” Amberstar silenced his jubilant Clan. “We still have another ceremony to conduct. Brightkit, step forward.”

Brightkit could have fainted on the spot. This day and the previous night had been too much—the last thing he wanted was _more_ attention. Many looks of anger and concern prickled his pelt like pine needles. Only his father’s gleeful, expectant gaze kept him from fleeing into the woods.

“Brightkit,” Amberstar said, grimacing, “you have reached the age of twelve moons, and it is time for you to be apprenticed. From this day on, until you receive your… _warrior_ name, you will be known as Brightpaw.” His leader paused with a sour snarl, as if he’d taken a bite of crowfood. “Your mentor will be your father, Oxstep. I hope Oxstep will pass down all he knows to you.”

Oxstep curled his bushy brown tail around his son as they waited for Amberstar to finish.

“Oxstep, you have volunteered to take on another apprentice. You have received excellent training from Rainday, and have shown yourself to be strong and loyal. I expect you to pass on all you know to Brightpaw. Meeting adjourned.”

Amberstar leapt down from the log and slunk inside. The Clan bristled in confusion, unsure whether they ought to leave, but Oxstep simply leaned down to touch noses gently with his son, and then chanted,

“Brightpaw! Brightpaw! Brightpaw!”

A few cats chanted earnestly with him—Foxfur, Greylight, Frondbreeze, and (at her mother’s insistence) Firkit—but the rest just repeated his name once or twice before turning to leave. The elders Shadowfall and Sapfur whispered gossip to each other, just loud enough to be audible.

“Amberstar, leaving before a ceremony’s end? That kit must be trouble, to make such a dutiful cat disrespect the warrior code!” Shadowfall hissed, his pelt bristling.

Sapfur began to respond, but then he noticed Brightpaw’s gaze and urged Shadowfall to move across the clearing, where they curled up together and continued talking.

“Don’t worry about those two,” Oxstep reassured his son. “They’ve been rude to everyone in the Clan since they became mates. They live in their own little world.”

Brightpaw wasn’t cheered by this thought, or even by the juicy pika his father had brought to share. All he could think about was the scowl on Amberstar’s face as he announced his apprenticeship, and the sneers Shadowfall and Sapfur shot him across the clearing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for being so kind and encouraging! I've had so much more motivation to work on this with your support. Updates should be every week or so. Let me know what you think in the comments, if you'd like!
> 
> You can find me on Twitter as @FionaBuny for art and updates, or even just to chat!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day in the life of a PineClan apprentice.

### Part One, Chapter Three

Brightpaw padded out of the den, stretching in the sun after a long night cramped inside with his Clan. They slept together even in Fair-Day, so the den was sweltering with the heat of every PineClan cat each morning. He settled down in a shady patch between the den and the medicine cat’s hollow, waiting for his mentor to wake up.

It had been a few moons since Brightpaw’s apprentice ceremony, and he felt a bit better about his impending warriorhood. Maybe it wasn’t the choice he’d make for himself, but he was content with being useful to PineClan, like everyone wanted him to be. He’d improved in combat and tracking—aside from the tundra and woods near Pack Hills, he had their territory mostly memorized! His pelt remained the only problem—he couldn’t hunt or sneak around in the daytime without being spotted, and he got cold very easily, though this wasn’t an issue in Fair-Day.

Not for the first time, Brightpaw turned and stared longingly into the medicine cat’s hollow. He caught the faint smell of groundberry, sickspike, and sage on the wind that blew past the entrance. By now he had resigned himself to being a warrior, and he knew he could never learn to be a medicine cat at Greylight’s side…but that didn’t stop him from wondering what could have been, had he been born before Bentpaw.

Finally Oxstep appeared, fur mussed and eyes bleary. Brightpaw’s excitement returned at the sight of his father. He bounced to his paws and bowled the older cat over, pushing him to the ground with a grunt.

“Dad! Good morning!” Brightpaw purred happily.

“Oof! Son, you’ll break your mentor’s bones if you’re not careful!” Oxstep said, rolling over in mock surrender. “You’re getting strong!”

The two cats pretended to battle for a moment, batting at each other with claws sheathed. Brightpaw scrambled to the side as his father pounced, then leapt onto his back and nibbled harmlessly at the thick fur between his shoulders.

“You’ve got me! I’m down!” Oxstep yelped, collapsing onto his belly. Brightpaw rolled off of his father, who turned to swat affectionately at his son’s ear.

“Do your training outside of camp, you two,” the voice of their deputy, Daisysky, called. She was organizing patrols in the clearing near the pair, watching them with a guarded look in her eyes. “You’ll roll over an elder if you aren’t careful!”

Oxstep stood and quickly licked at his chest fur, embarrassed. Brightpaw got to his paws and shook the dust from his pelt, then froze as a massive shadow blocked the Fair-Day sun.

He looked up into Amberstar’s wide eyes, or at least he tried to; the tabby tom was so much taller than Brightpaw that the apprentice could barely make eye contact with the white fur of his throat. Even though he was near fully grown, Amberstar still dwarfed Brightpaw.

“Hi—um, well, I mean, good morning, Amberstar,” Brightpaw said, hunching his shoulders and looking down at his front paws. He’d learned quickly that Amberstar was kinder if he made himself look as small as possible.

“We’re making a commotion in camp, are we?” Amberstar rumbled, sneering down at Brightpaw. It seemed that sneer hadn’t left his face since he’d made Brightpaw an apprentice. Before Brightpaw could defend himself, his father’s bushy brown tail swept around him.

“We’re just fooling around, Amberstar,” Oxstep said, deadpan. “Is it against the warrior code to play with your son in your own camp?”

The two toms kept eye contact for a long, tense moment. Brightpaw’s gaze flickered between the two, praying to StarClan that this wouldn’t end in yet another fight; their spats had been endless these past few moons. But thankfully the moment passed and Amberstar scoffed.

“This early in the morning, it should be. Take your  _ son _ out on patrol to the FrostClan border, and make certain there are no signs of those frostbitten mongrels creeping onto our territory again.”

With that, Amberstar turned and stalked off towards Shrewshine. Brightpaw imagined his tail would be flicking in annoyance, if he had one.

“Come now, Brightpaw,” Oxstep said as he watched his leader walk away, “we’ve got better things to do.”

Brightpaw charged alongside his mentor into the forest, the prick of spruce needles underpaw familiar and comforting. They were surrounded by birdsong, the scuffle of prey in the brush, and the sharp scent of pine. Despite how much his Clan hated him, Brightpaw was quite fond of their territory. He could only ever enjoy the woods when he was alone or with Oxstep, but that was fairly often, since most cats didn’t like hunting or patrolling with him.

Oxstep suddenly came to a stop and held up his tail. Brightpaw padded to his father’s side, taking in the forest air over his scent glands and searching the brush for trouble. His mentor pointed his tail to their left, and Brightpaw zeroed in on a shrew scrabbling in the roots of a fir tree. It would be easy to trap if Brightpaw could sneak up on it.

He dropped into a crouch and sidled into the brush, hoping it would help disguise his glaring pelt. Placing his pawsteps carefully, he slowly crept further and further toward the shrew. When he was almost close enough to pounce, though, the shrew suddenly twitched its head over its shoulder. It quietly darted back into the brush, and Brightpaw yowled in frustration as he gave chase. But it was too late; the shrew dove into a hole in the earth and was gone.

“You got very close!” Oxstep praised, padding up to his apprentice’s side. “Just a bit more practice and you’ll practically be invisible!”

“Not with this fur, I won’t!” Brightpaw grumbled, examining his orange paws. “I’ll never catch so much as a piece of fox dung.”

“Your fur hasn’t got anything to do with it!” Oxstep said, cuffing Brightpaw gently over the ear. “You just need better conditions. You’re much better at hunting at night, or during No-Sun, remember? Look forward to that!”

“No-Sun isn’t year-long, Dad. I can’t be a warrior for only part of the year.”

“Don’t listen to them, Brightpaw,” Oxstep said, ducking his head to look his son in the eyes. “Don’t ever listen when cats doubt you. You can prove them all wrong by becoming the good warrior I know you are! Remember, I was the runt of my litter, and look at me now!”

“Sometimes I wish I could claw all my fur out so it could grow back brown like yours,” Brightpaw looked away, sighing. He knew his father’s success story well, but his father wasn’t the one with a pelt that stood out like a bloodstain in the snow. There was a reason why they had to take a longer route for patrols, rather than taking the short one that cut near the Den Hills, where many hungry bears lived.

“Brightpaw, don’t talk like that! You’re going to be a great warrior, son, I can feel it in my bones. An old cat’s bones are never wrong.”

“Do you really think that, Dad? Or are you just trying to cheer me up?” Brightpaw always asked the same question, and always got the same answer, but it was nice to hear, just the same.

“I knew you’d be great from the moment you were born, Brightpaw. I love you, son.”

“I love you too, Dad.”

The two cats finally made it to the river border between PineClan and FrostClan. Here it was a slow but strong current, the water so black that its depths were hidden by the rippled reflection of the sky. Brightpaw looked across the water at the sparse line of trees and tried to see beyond them. The snowy expanse of FrostClan’s territory seemed almost untouched by the warm weather, with only a few new patches of grass visible. He hadn’t stopped feeling bad for the FrostClan warriors—how could they survive in such barren territory?

“Did you smell some FrostClan cats, Brightpaw?” Oxstep asked, sniffing around in the brush upstream. “Or did you stop to watch the water?”

“Sorry, Dad!” Brightpaw shook himself and started sniffing around, moving downstream toward the lake. Even if he pitied the cats of FrostClan, they had no right to be poking around in PineClan territory. Their scent was caught every now and then along the river, and they’d been paying the territory “visits” Brightpaw’s entire life—though of course their leader, Sleetstar, denied it.

Brightpaw kept moving, poking his nose into every nook and cranny, until he was very far from Oxstep. He was wary of getting too close to the lake and the Den Hills, so he decided to turn back. The moment he turned to go, though, he smelled what was unmistakably blood in the brush. Panic instantly leapt into his heart. Crouching so low that he was practically laying down, Brightpaw scuffled into the forest, terrified but determined to follow the scent. Was some cat hurt? Was it a FrostClan intruder, or StarClan forbid, one of his clanmates?

Brightpaw soon discovered the source of the smell: the remains of a squirrel, which looked very hastily eaten. For a moment Brightpaw froze, wondering if this meant a bear was nearby, but they usually preferred to eat the fish that appeared in the lake and river earlier in the year. Plus, he thought a big bear wouldn’t waste its time chasing down a tiny squirrel only to eat half of it. Knowing this, Brightpaw got up the courage to stand and investigate the kill closer.

When he got closer, he realized that underneath all the blood, the squirrel smelled funny somehow. He almost had to press his nose into its fur, but there was definitely a trace of another cat’s scent—not a cat he remembered, but a cat nonetheless. Was this the scent of a FrostClan cat?

Scrunching up his nose in disgust, Brightpaw took the ruined squirrel by the tail and dragged it back upstream to Oxstep. As he got closer, he called his father’s name through a mouthful of wiry fur. Oxstep came charging out of the brush to his son’s side.

“What’ve you got there, Brightpaw? Some…crowfood?” Oxstep looked at the remains of the squirrel in disgust as Brightpaw spat them out.

“No! I found this downstream, in the brush. It smells like strange cats! Someone from FrostClan must have killed and eaten it on our territory!”

Oxstep leaned down to give the squirrel a tentative sniff, his eyes widening as he realized his son was right.

“We have to get this back to Amberstar immediately. Good job, Brightpaw!” Oxstep gave Brightpaw an affectionate lick before taking the squirrel in his jaws and bounding back towards camp.

Brightpaw scrambled to follow his father. Part of him was upset by FrostClan’s blatant breach of the warrior code, but a bigger part of him was excited. He’d found solid proof of FrostClan’s misconduct all by himself! Now all his clanmates would be impressed with him. Maybe even  _ Amberstar  _ would be proud!

“Amberstar!” Brightpaw called as he charged towards camp. “Amberstar! We have something to—”

“Stop right there.” A huge paw caught Brightpaw in the chest before he could enter the rock passage that led to their camp, tossing him backwards. “What do you have for the good of PineClan?”

“Oh, I-I’m sorry, I’m not, um, I don’t have anything,” Brightpaw said, looking up at the old fluffy tabby sitting by the camp’s entrance. The elder’s fur was greasy, but his eyes were still as bright as the day of his apprentice ceremony—and right now they were glinting angrily.

“Burrfang, please,” Oxstep called back, awkwardly turning around in the middle of the narrow stone pass. “We have very important news for Amberstar!”

“Clan rules are Clan rules! I take my shifts as guard very seriously.” Burrfang glared down at Brightpaw. “If you don’t have anything, you can’t pass.”

Brightpaw looked around frantically before pelting a few tail lengths away and returning with a soft spruce twig, its needles sparse but still there.

“For Greylight,” Brightpaw said through clenched teeth. “Soft spruce needles.”

“You know well that Greylight has plenty of soft spruce needles in his stores!” Burrfang criticized.

“Burrfang! Please, this is of grave importance!” Oxstep said, his growl muffled by the squirrel in his mouth.

Burrfang sized up the dark brown tom with a sideways glance, then let Brightpaw through with a displeased grunt.

By then the commotion had drawn the attention of the cats in camp. Greylight padded up to Brightpaw’s side and gently took the spruce twig from him while Bentpaw idled behind his mentor. A collection of warriors, including his mother Dewfreeze, milled about and whispered. Finally, Amberstar slowly crawled out of the hollow den log across from the stone pass and stalked across the camp clearing.

“What is it, Oxstep? Did your son catch some crowfood?” Amberstar said. A few cats snickered, but most realized Oxstep was quite serious, and listened in respectful silence.

“We’ve found proof,” Oxstep said, dropping the squirrel, “that FrostClan has been trespassing! Sleetstar can’t deny it any longer.”

Amberstar’s ears pricked in interest.

“Go on and tell him, Brightpaw,” Oxstep said, pulling his son into the center of the gathered crowd. The apprentice squeaked in surprise and shivered—he was still rarely given this much attention. It was like the day of his apprentice ceremony all over again!

His voice quieter than snowfall, Brightpaw explained how he’d found the squirrel along the riverbank. When he mentioned the scent of FrostClan, several warriors stepped up to smell for themselves, turning and nodding to their clanmates.

“ _ Brightpaw _ found it?” a black-and-white warrior said, incredulous.

“He certainly did, Nightpatch.” Oxstep looked bright, glowing with pride. Brightpaw looked up at his father and purred happily.

Amberstar silently stood, walked up to the dead squirrel, and stiffly lowered his head to give it a deep sniff. He nodded and shifted to address his Clan.

“There is indeed the scent of FrostClan on this prey,” he said. “At our next Gathering, we will confront FrostClan about their violation of our borders. We will wait to see if they confess before taking further action. Good scouting, Oxstep.”

“And?” Oxstep prodded, curling his tail around his son.

“And…good find, Brightpaw. You’ve…you’ve done well.” Amberstar nodded tersely at the apprentice. “Nightpatch, take this and bury it far from camp. We don’t want to attract foxes. Daisysky, I want doubled patrols on that border, before it gets too dark to get close to the water. You are all to chase off or kill any intruders on sight.”

“Amberstar, wouldn’t it make more sense to talk to the intruders first?” Daisysky asked. “Take them prisoner if necessary, surely, but killing them goes against th—”

“PineClan will not look weak in the face of such disrespect!” Amberstar yowled, unsheathing his claws. The entire Clan flinched away; he hadn’t dismissed them before discussing tactics with Daisysky.

“We…will discuss this later,” Daisysky said, eyeing her leader’s thick claws. “Everyone, back to business as usual! And be on the alert while patrolling the river border!”

The crowd of cats dispersed into groups as Daisysky rounded up patrols. Warriors muttered about the news and their leader’s conduct, and a few even gave Brightpaw nods and pleased looks. Oxstep left Brightpaw to speak with Greylight, and the apprentice stayed behind to happily bask in his Clan’s appreciation.  _ This _ was how it felt to be liked by your Clan? Maybe attention wasn’t so bad, then, so long as it wasn’t glares and hisses.

“You, uh…you did good work today, Brightpaw!”

The apprentice turned to see Daisysky heading toward him, and already Brightpaw could see she was uncomfortable. She did her best to put on a happy face, so Brightpaw gave her credit for that. Maybe it would have been convincing, too, if he didn’t have so much experience with cats putting on fake faces for him.

“Thank you, Daisysky,” Brightpaw said, dipping his head. His paws tingled at the awkwardness of talking to this important stranger, but he enjoyed the positive attention nonetheless.

“Brightpaw, I want to tell you something,” Daisysky said, suddenly leaning in to talk quietly. “Please keep doing things like this. Keep doing things to gain Amberstar’s approval. I think you’ll need it.”

“O-of course I need it, Daisysky,” Brightpaw chuckled nervously. “He’s our…my…our leader!”

“Yes…. Yes, he is indeed,” Daisysky said, turning and nodding to herself. “You, um…you did good work today.”

“You already said that,” Brightpaw said quietly, watching Daisysky with his head tipped to the side as she padded away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I like to give some of these characters "theme songs" to help define their character better, and Oxstep's theme is "Have It All" by Jason Mraz! <3
> 
> You can find me on Twitter as @FionaBuny for art and updates, or even just to chat! I always post new chapter notifications there, too. Thank you all for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brightpaw goes on a journey.

###  Part One, Chapter Four 

A few days later, Fair-Day was clearly approaching its end. The nights were getting shorter, and the entirety of PineClan was miserable while their sleep schedules adjusted. Amberstar was the only cat who seemed unbothered, his stoic energy never fading even as the cats stayed up through more and more daylight or slept fitfully in the heat of the den. Even Oxstep, who was usually very good-natured, griped to Brightpaw about his clanmates around this time of year.

“I don’t know why Shrewshine insists on staring at us so much,” he grumbled as they both tore into a rabbit. They’d spent the whole day hunting, and Brightpaw had even managed to catch a scrawny shrew. It sat nearby; he planned to give it to Amberstar when he returned from patrol.

“Is he staring now?” Brightpaw asked, glancing across the clearing. Shrewshine was indeed staring, slouched in his spot by the rock that covered the camp’s freshkill store. His strange orange eyes shone out of his white face like tiny suns.

“Don’t stare back! That’s just as rude,” Oxstep said, swallowing another bite.

“Consuls see our ancestors all the time though, right? Maybe he’s looking at a StarClan cat that happens to be close by.”

“Even so, that doesn’t give him the right to forget his manners.”

Oxstep shifted so his back faced Shrewshine. Brightpaw kept looking, though, trying to decipher the expression on Shrewshine’s face as he stared. There was something there, but Shrewshine was such a spacey cat that it was hard to decipher his moods.

A few moments passed as Shrewshine and Brightpaw stared at each other. The consul didn’t even break eye contact when he coughed or sneezed, which made Brightpaw’s skin crawl—he was definitely watching Brightpaw, not a StarClan cat. Then, Shrewshine suddenly flinched and swiveled his head to the left, staring up at the sky. Brightpaw looked up, too, but saw nothing there. Had one of his warrior ancestors sent Shrewshine a message?

The consul, now uncharacteristically alert, sat up and watched the stone passage intently. A couple minutes later, Amberstar and his patrol bounded into the clearing, each carrying a piece of freshkill or a clump of herbs to bypass the guard. As the patrol dispersed, Brightpaw picked up his shrew and padded up to Amberstar, just as Shrewshine called their leader’s name.

“Amberstar! I’ve received a message!” the white tom called. “There’s meant to be a Gathering tonight.” They were the first full sentences Brightpaw had ever heard him say. The moment the words flew from his mouth, this new Shrewshine faded away, his eyes fuzzing back over and his ears drooping.

“Finally! We can confront FrostClan about what they’ve done tonight, then.” Amberstar turned to a dusty grey, one-eared tom from his patrol, who was staring at Shrewshine with discomfort. “Halfear, round up the senior warriors and find Daisysky. Tell them to meet here at once to go to the Gathering Isle. We need everyone there, in case FrostClan reacts violently to being confronted. Sleetstar never leaves a warrior behind during Gatherings.”

Halfear nodded and ran off. Brightpaw was frozen among the now bustling crowd with his pathetic shrew in his mouth. A small, dull part of him wished he could look up to Amberstar; he was a powerful cat who commanded respect. Very few warriors ever questioned his orders. This desire was dashed, though, as Amberstar turned to look at Brightpaw, his gaze cruel.

_ There has to be another reason why Amberstar doesn’t like me _ , Brightpaw thought, the sudden thought striking him so hard that he flinched.  _ It can’t be  _ just _ my pelt. No cat could possibly hate someone’s fur that much. _

“What’ve you got there, Brightpaw?” Amberstar sighed, likely realizing Brightpaw wouldn’t leave until dismissed.

“I’ve caught, um, I mean, I caught some freshkill for you, Amberstar,” Brightpaw said, placing the shrew at his leader’s feet. “I caught it myself, just-just for you.”

Amberstar glared down at the shrew, then bent to sniff it.

“Scrawny,” he commented, though he picked it up anyway. Brightpaw watched anxiously as Amberstar swallowed the entire thing. He wanted to ask if the bones would catch in his throat, but thought better of it.

“Good job, I suppose, though it certainly didn’t whet my appetite,” Amberstar said, looking unimpressed. He stalked off in the opposite direction, towards Greylight. As he left, Brightpaw caught Daisysky’s eye from across the clearing as she nodded in approval. Apparently, she’d watched the whole exchange.

_ Why does she want me to impress Amberstar all of a sudden?  _ Brightpaw wondered.  _ Is he keeping an eye on me for some reason? _

A sudden thrill went through Brightpaw—Amberstar must’ve been planning on taking him to the Gathering! His leader must be starting to warm up to him! Daisysky was just making sure Brightpaw didn’t give him any reason to doubt his warrior abilities. As his deputy, Brightpaw knew she would understand Amberstar’s plans better than a simple apprentice. Maybe he was even thinking of assessing him soon? Excited at this prospect, Brightpaw nodded back to Daisysky and bounded to his father’s side.

“Oxstep! Do you think I’ll be allowed to go to the Gathering tonight?” he asked, feeling confident. “Should we ask Amberstar?”

“You know, son, you’re right!” Oxstep purred, surprised by his son’s sudden energy. “You’re quite old enough, after all. Amberstar ought to—”

“Amberstar ought to what?” a deep voice rumbled. PineClan’s leader padded up to them, Greylight at his side.

“We were just wondering if you were going to let Brightpaw attend the Gathering tonight?” Oxstep asked, squaring his shoulders and making eye contact with Amberstar. “He’s been apprenticed for so long, he ought to meet the other Clans soon.”

Amberstar’s gaze swept idly over Brightpaw, as if he weren’t even there. His ears twisted back as he mulled over the thought.

“Oxstep, I am unsure if this Gathering is a good introduction to the Clans,” Amberstar said. “I will be confronting Sleetstar about his trespassing, and I may also be forced to confront Featherstar about—”

“With all due respect, Amberstar, I believe that would be a perfect introduction for Brightpaw. What better way to understand the conflicts and challenges of Clan life than—”

“You are  _ not _ to interrupt me again, Oxstep!” Amberstar hissed, flexing his claws. Greylight flinched in surprise, and Brightpaw scuffled backwards in the dirt. He wondered why the older cats all seemed so calm while Amberstar threatened them. “I simply do not want a cat like  _ Brightpaw _ present during a conflict. He can come to a more peaceful Gathering.”

“And how often are Gatherings called for  _ celebration _ ?” Greylight suddenly said, stepping between the two cats. He swiveled his head back and forth to address both cats. “Amberstar, if you wait for a Gathering to be called without conflict, you will have this apprentice wait his whole life to meet the other Clans. Brightpaw must come to understand  _ all _ parts of being a warrior, including our arguments and issues with the other Clans. However much you want to…er, protect him, you must put his growth first.”

Brightpaw regarded Greylight with wonder and awe. He was standing up for him! He had a powerful member of the Clan on his side!

“Greylight has a point,” Oxstep said. “Every Gathering is dangerous, regardless—we have to cross the lake twice, for StarClan’s sake! You can’t keep Brightpaw from learning about the world he is to live in.”

Amberstar’s bulky head swiveled angrily between the elder warrior and the medicine cat. He was outnumbered and clearly didn’t take well to having his medicine cat contest his will, flexing his claws.

“ _ Fine _ ,” he finally growled, glaring down at Brightpaw. “He can come, so long as he has the sense to keep PineClan business  _ private _ . But I want cats around him to hide his pelt while we pass the Den Hills. A bear could spot him from miles away, even in the night.”

“I suppose that’s a fair compromise,” Oxstep said, his voice triumphant. “I’ll ask some cats if they’ll volunteer.”

Oxstep bounded away, leaving Brightpaw under Amberstar’s furious gaze. His leader opened his mouth to speak, but just as he was about to say something, Halfear bounded up to him and Greylight.

“Sapfur says he won’t let you leave until you help Shadowfall with another thorn in his paw, Greylight,” Halfear said to the both of them. He flicked his tail towards the stone pass to camp, where Sapfur stood stiff-legged and hissing as Rabbitfoot, his tan tabby daughter, tried to calm him down.

“I told him, it’s his joints! I gave Shadowfall plenty of bearberry to eat!” Greylight huffed.

“That’s what I told him!”

“I’ll talk to Sapfur,” Amberstar said, “and you get him something to calm him down, Greylight. We can’t let him delay; this will be an important Gathering.”

Amberstar lumbered off before Greylight could say anything, in the direction of the frail brown elder. Greylight hissed and glanced around the clearing.

“Bentpaw? Bentpaw, get over here!” he demanded, but his apprentice was nowhere in sight. Greylight sighed and turned to Brightpaw. “Brightpaw, will you get me some twinflower from my den? I know you’re familiar with it. I can’t let Amberstar upset Sapfur more, and I don’t trust him to handle this gently…uh, don’t tell him I said that.”

Brightpaw nodded and sprinted to the medicine cat’s hollow, wriggling underneath the roots of the pine. The smells of all the pungent dried herbs and sweet berries in the hollow hit Brightpaw like a wall, and he allowed himself a brief moment of nostalgia.

The hollow was a cave made of packed earth with a low ceiling, the roots of the ancient pine twisting into nooks and crannies in the walls where Greylight kept his stores hidden away. He saw the entrance to the nursing den at the far wall, a curtain of thin, tangled roots masking a moss-filled divot in the ground. He remembered playing by himself here while his mother ignored him to nap or gossip with visitors. If the den was filled with moss, though, that meant someone was planning to move into it soon. The idea of having new kits to play with was so exciting!

Though he was no medicine cat’s apprentice, Brightpaw remembered everything that Greylight had told him about plants as a growing kit. He recognized bearberry, kit-thorn, and willow leaves very easily, but most of the other plants were a bit harder to identify. Twinflower was an easy one, too—they were pink flowers on thin stalks, always with two blooms per plant. He picked out a few stalks of the dainty flowers and ducked his head to pick them up.

“What are you doing in here?” a small, thorn-sharp voice asked. Brightpaw turned to see Bentpaw crawling out of the nursing den, stumbling on his three good paws with sleep-bleary eyes. Brightpaw tried to avoid glancing at his front left paw—it had three toes and it twisted inwards, and Bentpaw walked on it in such an exaggerated way that it drew much attention.

“I’m getting some twinflower for Sapfur,” Brightpaw said. “He’s mad that—”

“Give me that!” Bentpaw hissed, shoving Brightpaw out of the way and drawing the twinflower stalks closer to him. Bentpaw was only a little bigger, but Brightpaw didn’t put up a fight. He didn’t want to make his relationship with Bentpaw even worse over a few flowers.

“Sapfur and Greylight are at the entrance to camp,” he told Bentpaw, who had already turned to stalk out of the hollow. Bentpaw stiffened and turned to glare and Brightpaw.

“I don’t want you getting any ideas, Brightpaw,” the other apprentice snapped, “I was just taking a nap at the wrong time. We’re both useless as warriors, but I was here  _ first _ . You stay away from medicine! That’s my job, and I’ll fight you tooth and claw to keep it!”

With that, Bentpaw scoffed and left, kicking up dust behind him as he limped rapidly away. Brightpaw waited a bit before leaving, though he would have preferred to curl up among the cloying smells and memories until he was forgotten. However, he wanted just as badly to go to the Gathering, so he stood and left this safe place to face his Clan once again.

Brightpaw was sent to the back of the group as PineClan traveled to the Gathering. His father was to his left, Greylight to his right, with Foxfur and Mossytail at his front and back, respectively. Foxfur was a nice molly with a pretty reddish-brown coat, and seemed to be good friends with Oxstep, so Brightpaw had expected her to accompany him, but he hadn’t expected Mossytail, the most skittish cat in PineClan, to be anywhere near him. He kept glancing back at her, but her grey pelt blended in with the night, and he couldn’t even make out her eyes through the fur on her face.

“Are you excited, son?” Oxstep asked as they skirted along the edge of the forest. Brightpaw could hear the water of the lake lapping against the pebbly shore. He would have liked to see the lake, since he rarely left the safety of the forest while training, but it was too dark to get any closer. “We’re going to your first Gathering! You’ll be able to see the ancient camp of LynxClan for the first time.”

Brightpaw was too preoccupied with his worries to care much about seeing the old camp of a long-dead Clan of wildcats. As they’d left camp, he’d noticed Daisysky glaring at him. He couldn’t figure out what he’d done to displease her, and he was frantically retracing every pawstep and whisker twitch to try and figure it out.

“What if, um, what if I fall in the lake while we—while I cross?” he asked nervously.

“You won’t, Brightpaw, I promise. StarClan always brings us the moon when we need to pass. Sometimes we must be patient for them, but they have never failed to guide us.”

Brightpaw looked up at the bright spattering of lights in the sky. Each one was one of his warrior ancestors, watching over him and the rest of the Clans. He remembered the stories about StarClan saving his father from drowning and freezing as a kit, and similar stories of StarClan’s greatness from other senior warriors. Was that the same StarClan that let his leader and clanmates call him worthless? Why didn’t they come to  _ his _ rescue?

Amberstar hissed under his breath and the entire group halted. They all looked instinctively to their left, where Brightpaw saw a mass of craggy hills. Beyond that, he could faintly hear where their river border with FrostClan rolled and frothed into the lake over a stretch of boulders—the rapids where cat-sized salmon bred in No-Moon. These woods were rich in berries and other prey as well. He could see why so many bears hunted here; if he were that big, this place would be paradise.

Daisysky motioned with her tail for everyone to keep low, and a wave of fear-scent passed through the cats. Brightpaw saw Amberstar’s pelt bristle and his ears flatten against his head—embarrassed that Daisysky had to signal for him, he assumed.

The cats were forced to skitter across the rocky shore to keep a safe distance from the dens, sacrificing the cover of the brush. The four cats around Brightpaw scuffled closer, shielding his orange fur from view. Pebbles clattered noisily under Brightpaw’s clumsy feet as they ran closer to the lakeshore, each one sending thrills of panic down his spine. He had to stop and start carefully to avoid running into the other cats, and his pelt fluffed with embarrassment that such precautions had to be taken for him.

At a certain distance, Amberstar turned and led the cats in a path parallel to the coast, heading away from the Den Hills as fast their paws could carry them. At this point everyone relaxed, and the group loosened its formation as they ran across the field of pebbles. Brightpaw could see the rapids roaring along in the distance, across the stony landscape to his left. Here, the shore was whittled to a point between the river and the lake. Having water on both sides of him made Brightpaw feel trapped, far away from the comforting cover of the pines he’d grown up under. Ahead, near where the lake emptied into the river, Brightpaw could just barely make out the shadows of boulders jutting above the water.

“That was so…that was scary,” he said, unsure of what else to say. His voice cracked as he spoke—he’d hardly noticed how frightened he was, distracted by all the new sights and sounds, but now he realized his pelt had fluffed to double its size.

“As long as we’re quiet, no bear will bother with us,” Oxstep replied, edging closer to his son to share pelts as they traveled. “They just don’t like intruders, just as we wouldn’t like a bear wandering into our camp.”

“They’re fast.” Brightpaw, Oxstep, Foxfur, and even Greylight swiveled their heads to listen to Mossytail, who hadn’t spoken the entire journey. “You don’t think they will be, with how big they are, but they’re fast. Faster than a cat. You think you’ll be safe in a tree, but then it starts climbing, and….”

“Let’s not talk about bears. They’re dangerous, yes, but we’re well away from Den Hills. No bear will come running for us this far away,” Greylight said. Then he leaned in and whispered to Brightpaw, “Mossytail survived a bear attack. Her apprentice and her mother weren’t so lucky; it’s best not to speak of bears around her.”

“Oh, StarClan, I forgot she was back there!” Foxfur whispered, wincing at her mistake. Brightpaw’s pelt ruffled in shame as he realized he’d forgotten her, too. Foxfur fell back in line with Mossytail and started chatting with her. Mossytail’s mood seemed to lighten as they spoke, lifting her from the dark place in her memories.

“Is that where we’re crossing?” Brightpaw asked, nodding at the stones in the water.

“Indeed it is,” Oxstep said. “We’ll get a bit closer, then wait for StarClan to light the way.”

“Are you sure they will?” Brightpaw asked, staring up at the clouded night sky. Only a few rays of moonlight had been guiding them thus far, their keen eyes doing most of the work. “I mean, you know, it seems pretty cloudy….”

“Do you doubt StarClan?” Greylight asked, wheeling on Brightpaw with his good eye suddenly wild. Brightpaw tensed, afraid of angering one of his closest friends.

Before Brightpaw could even answer, the clouds in the sky parted above their path to the Gathering Isle, and a few cats bounded forward, excited. The damp rocks glinted silver underneath the half moon—a path of light above the dark, roiling waters. Brightpaw stared up in awe, wondering which StarClan cat had answered him. Greylight smirked at Brightpaw, gently flicking his tail over the apprentice’s shoulder.

“See? StarClan knows when you doubt them, Brightpaw. You should feel lucky! They don’t always answer prayers so quickly.” Greylight bounded ahead with a  _ mrrow _ of laughter, leaping onto the first boulder. Halfear was also perched there, his tail rippling wildly as he fought for balance.

Brightpaw wished this path was further away from the rapids, where the water was at least calmer, though not any warmer or shallower. Seeing several experienced warriors struggle as they leapt from boulder to boulder made him nervous.

“It’s easy, son! I promise,” Oxstep said, approaching the first boulder. It was buried deep in the pebbly ground, slanting almost vertically upwards.

Brightpaw watched his father leap halfway up the rock in a single bound. Knowing he couldn’t do that, Brightpaw instead tried to scramble up the rock with his claws. He didn’t get very far before he felt a sharp pain in one claw and sheathed them reflexively, sending him head over tail back onto the shore. Foxfur chuckled as she helped him back up.

“Don’t copy your father! Of course it’s easy for him, he’s got big paws! Try keeping your paws flat and your claws half-sheathed. Rely on your dewclaws instead. You won’t yank them out that way.” Foxfur padded slowly up the stone to Oxstep’s side, demonstrating her clunky but effective way of walking.

Brightpaw tried again, slowly this time, and found this worked much better. Foxfur purred at him before turning and leaping to the next, much flatter stone on the path, hardly minding the waters that churned around it.

“Well, look at you making friends!” Oxstep purred. “You go on ahead with Foxfur, I have to make sure Mossytail is okay. I’ll see you there, son!”

Brightpaw nodded and bounded forward, excitement launching him across the gap between the next two boulders in one fluid jump. Nervous but hopeful, Brightpaw picked his way across the lake toward his first ever Gathering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A longer chapter this week, since it's being uploaded so late! College is demanding, who would've thought? Anyways, thank you all so much for your continued support!
> 
> You can find me on Twitter as @FionaBuny for art and updates, or even just to chat!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Gathering of the three Clans.

###  Part One, Chapter Five 

Brightpaw gratefully hopped back onto soil, thankful that most of the path over the lake had been flat and stable. He now found himself on a large island in the very middle of the lake, the black waters calmly lapping at the craggy slate coast.

The island was dominated by a clearing of damp, tightly-packed sand mixed with chips of grey, tan, and orange stone that tickled his paw pads. The ground was littered with large slabs of slate that leaned on each other in piles or just laid out in the sand, flat spots for cats who didn’t care for dirty paws. This clearing was ringed by a thin, uneven line of tall but sparse fir trees, and at its far end was one rock that stood out from the others: it was giant, just taller than a cat on its hind legs, and its surface was worn so smooth that it glowed white in the moonlight. He could easily imagine the huge, powerful cats of LynxClan easily jumping to the top.

And strolling all around this clearing were more cats than Brightpaw had ever seen.

Every cat looked big and strong and wise, talking to each other like equals even though they were from different Clans, almost different worlds. There were no playing kits, no gossiping elders, no spaced-out consuls. Brightpaw gazed around the clearing in stunned silence, unsure of where to go.

“Go on, son!” Oxstep whispered into his ear. “Go and listen to some war tales! I’ll leave you to it, but come get me if you need help, okay?”

Oxstep bounded away before Brightpaw could object, and suddenly the apprentice was alone in a sea of strange cats.

A pure white, long-furred molly and another silent, scarred grey cat strolled past, chatting all the way. The she-cat gave Brightpaw a passing glance, then did a double take in surprise. He felt her gaze like pine needles in his pelt and ducked his head in shame, retreating into the shadow of a slate pile. It wasn’t going to be easy making friends here, either.

“Amberstar! PineClan is late again, I see?” a wiry voice called across the clearing. A grey-and-white she-cat with wispy, tufted fur padded across the clearing towards Amberstar as the rest of PineClan dispersed. “Looks like you’ll be making your announcements last.”

“Featherstar.” Amberstar nodded curtly and prowled away, eyes glinting with rage. Featherstar followed him closely, and though Brightpaw couldn’t hear what she was saying, it sounded like she was chiding him the whole way. He wondered—

“RidgeClan’s leader,” an unfamiliar voice said. Brightpaw started; to his left was an old brown tom with criss-crossing scars all over his shoulders and throat, his wrinkled pink scars bared for the world to see. “Don’t like each other much, but then, most cats don’t. She’s good at getting under your fur, and she doesn’t even know it.”

“Oh.” Brightpaw watched as Featherstar and Amberstar settled down to talk with a few other warriors. “Thank you, I didn’t know. I’m—”

“Brightpaw? I’ve heard about you,” he grumbled. “Oxstep’s kit. He’s a good warrior. Strong. Loyal, at least he was, uh— Well, I’m Tornthroat.”

“Oh, um, well, hello, Tornthroat,” Brightpaw said, a bit intimidated. He floundered for conversation topics. “Um…. How did, I mean, if you don’t mind me asking—”

“Eagle. Nearly got me, too. But my fur’s too thick and my claws are too sharp for any old bird to take me down!” Tornthroat unsheathed his massive claws and admired them closely. Brightpaw forced his fur to lay flat on his shoulders. He’d never seen a survivor of an eagle attack before—in fact, he’d never seen an eagle before, only the small birds his father caught for freshkill. How could a  _ bird  _ do that much damage to a cat?

“Tornthroat, don’t frighten new apprentices!” another voice called. A young she-cat with pale orange fur trotted up to them, purring in amusement. “Sorry, he likes to show off how tough he is to newcomers.”

“Let me have my fun, Berrylight,” Tornthroat growled, stalking off toward Oxstep and a few other senior warriors.

“Thank you, um, Berrylight,” Brightpaw stuttered, genuinely grateful to the medicine cat. He wanted to ask which Clan she was from, but he locked up, nervous and intimidated. This was the first ever orange cat he’d seen aside from himself, and she was a medicine cat…he didn’t know what to think of that.

“It’s alright, little one!” Berrylight purred. “It’s normal to be nervous during your first few Gatherings.” With that, she got up and left, heading towards Greylight and a brown cat with matted fur, who were chattering away like old friends.

Desperate not to be left alone again, Brightpaw padded towards the corner where Barkface and Nightpatch were speaking with a striking black tabby warrior and a brown tabby apprentice with very big eyes. He overheard the two complaining as he approached:

“We have absolutely no apprentices in camp!” Barkface was saying, looking dejected. “I’d love to be a mentor, but we just—”

“Hey, should you be telling me this?” the other warrior said, their tail rippling nervously. “I know we’re… _ friends _ , but these are Clan weaknesses you’re sharing. Won’t that reflect poorly on you?”

“Amberstar can’t hear us,” Barkface said.

“And your Clan couldn’t do much about it, anyway, after what we—” Nightpatch began, then caught himself. “S-sorry, Darkclaw.”

“It’s okay, Nightpatch. I know what you meant.”

“Plus, we can’t talk about this to  _ RidgeClan _ cats,” Barkface continued. “Their leader is far too nosy, you know that. Not even  _ Rabbitfoot  _ would be able to keep that a secret from Featherstar!”

“Well, why can’t you talk to your clanmates?” Darkclaw asked. “It’s not as if we can donate kits to you.”

“That’s not what we want,” Barkface said. “We just want Amberstar to take apprenticing more seriously! All he wants is to make our existing warriors stronger. He’s become blind to everything else, and no one wants to have kits with only him around to teach them!”

“Plus, he’s giving out mentorships to  _ elders _ now,” Nightpatch huffed, “and worthless kits like—  _ Brightpaw _ !”

Brightpaw yelped and skittered backwards, tail between his legs. Four pairs of eyes swiveled to look at him, each brimming with guilt.

“How long have you been there?” Barkface hissed, his light brown pelt bristling. “How much did you hear?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Didn’t Oxstep teach you not to eavesdrop?” Nightpatch was bristling with fury, lashing his tail as he loomed over Brightpaw. He kept looking out across the sea of cats, paranoid, but this corner was far enough away that he could hiss without being heard.

“You two, relax!” Darkclaw began. “He’s just an apprentice.”

“You’d better not tell  _ anyone _ what you just heard, got it?” Nightpatch hissed, pointedly ignoring his friend. 

“I-I-I won’t! I won’t!” Brightpaw stammered, his voice a mere whisper.

Barkface batted him hard upside the head and his ears rang. The two toms stalked off with Darkclaw trailing angrily behind them, leaving Brightpaw cowering in the corner. He covered his ears with his paws, shivering and waiting for his hearing to return.

“Are you okay?”

Brightpaw looked up into the green eyes with the tabby apprentice. She knelt down to gently lick Brightpaw’s forehead until he was calm enough to stand.

“Thank you,” Brightpaw said, feeling embarrassed but relieved. “My name’s Brightpaw.”

“I’m Brackenpaw,” the other apprentice said, watching with wide eyes as Brightpaw shook the grit from his pelt. “You have very orange fur.”

“Yeah, I know,” Brightpaw said, grimacing.

They sat in awkward silence, listening absently to the sound of cats milling about.

“Was that as strange for you to hear as it was for me?” Brightpaw asked.

“Yes,” she said, tilting her head. “Warriors aren’t supposed to tell rival Clans about weaknesses, even during Gatherings. It’s bad strategy.”

“Should we tell our leaders?” Brightpaw asked, despite knowing already that he would never wish the fate of Amberstar’s rage on any cat.

“You can tell yours, I suppose. I’m not sure about mine, though. Darkclaw is a nice cat, I wouldn’t want them punished….”

“I’m not sure what to think, either. I’ve never heard anyone take issue with Amberstar’s apprenticeships before.”

Now that he thought about it, though, that wasn’t true. Firkit was pretty old now, but was still not mentored. He’d been many moons too old when he was apprenticed, as well—nearly fourteen, in fact.  _ Maybe it’s not me, but Amberstar’s feelings about apprentices that makes him hate me,  _ he wondered, hopeful.  _ Maybe he just doesn’t like young cats? _

“At least you got to be an apprentice,” Brackenpaw said, giving Brightpaw a friendly look.

Just then, a yowl rose over the chatter in the clearing. Brightpaw jumped and looked across the Isle to see Amberstar, Featherstar, and a skinny brown tom with big ears—Sleetstar, he assumed—sitting on the smooth, shimmering boulder. Daisysky and Greylight sat side by side beneath Amberstar at the front of the crowd, as did the medicine cat and deputy from the other two Clans.

“That means the announcements are starting,” Brackenpaw informed Brightpaw. “We’d better go. I hope I get to see you next Gathering, though.”

Brightpaw, lost and confused, tried to follow Brackenpaw into the growing crowd of cats, but bumped into an old grey tom’s hind end and lost her.

“What’re you doing, kit?” the tom growled, hackles raised. He sniffed Brightpaw and recoiled in anger. “Are you a PineClan spy?”

“Speckleface, you’re dumber than an ox!” an old black she-cat yowled, her voice quavering. “He’s just a little lost kit. This is FrostClan’s section, honey. PineClan is to your right.”

“Wobblestep, he’s a  _ spy _ !” Speckleface insisted, even as Brightpaw wheeled away and wriggled between his clanmates. He panted and searched for his father, comforted by PineClan’s familiar scent of bracken and dew.

Oxstep was towards the front of the crowd, standing sideways with his tail stretched behind him. When he noticed Brightpaw, he lowered his tail and sat.

“Saved you a spot!” his father said, purring. “Did you make any friends? Hear any stories? I’d love some gossip.”

Brightpaw thought of Nightpatch and Barkface complaining about their leader to an enemy warrior. The blood in his ears pulsed.

“I mean, um, nothing interesting,” he said, “but I talked to a FrostClan apprentice. She seemed nice.”

“You be careful, Brightpaw,” Oxstep said. “Don’t ever tell a FrostClan cat anything sensitive. They’d love nothing more than to steal our territory since we share a border, moreso than RidgeClan cats. Oh, remind me later to tell you what Patchsky said about RidgeClan’s new consul! It’s very interesting.”

Brightpaw felt his fur fluff up, but his father didn’t notice. Instead, he elbowed Brightpaw to get his attention; the announcements were starting.

“RidgeClan arrived first,” Featherstar said, stepping forward, “and so our announcements come first. We must first report sad news: our consul, Deershine, has sadly passed away before her time. We believe she may have accidentally ingested some sickspike. Our new consul, Sunshine, was chosen by Berrylight after some deliberation, and she has been admirable thus far.”

All the cats around him burst into surprised whispers. However, Brightpaw saw a few cats who instead seemed to be glaring up at the leaders from among the sea of RidgeClan’s cats, though the shifting crowd obscured their faces quickly.

“That’s odd,” some cat behind Brightpaw said. He recognized it as Yarrowbloom, a junior PineClan warrior, but he thought it rude to turn and check. “Deershine was so young. Didn’t Briarshine just pass away a few moons ago?”

“She fell trying to climb up a path, if I remember correctly,” he heard Foxfur reply. “So tragic….”

“More like suspicious. Their last medicine cat died recently, too.”

“You find everything suspicious, Yarrowbloom,” Foxfur replied. “They live on a mountain. Of course their cats will die so often! Could you imagine being so high up all the time?”

“Yes, this was tragic, but everything is in order now,” Featherstar called, bringing the attention back to herself. “There is more good news for RidgeClan than bad news this Gathering! We have apprenticed two new cats: sisters Cliffpaw and Talonpaw.”

An apprentice with blue-grey fur and another with a grey tabby pelt both puffed up with pride at the front of RidgeClan’s crowd. They were instantly surrounded by purrs of approval and calls of congratulations. A thorn of jealousy suddenly wedged itself in Brightpaw’s heart, followed by an ache of longing.

“We also have a new warrior among us! Dawnpaw has been named Dawnheart after protecting Pebblekit and his mother Willow-wind from a falcon. He is a fine young cat and a great addition to his Clan!”

Another ripple of approval and welcome surged through the gathered cats, this time aimed at a tom with a brown face and paws standing out against cream-white fur. He had some fresh wounds on his shoulders, but they seemed to have healed enough for the commute. Brightpaw wondered if he would ever be welcomed as a full warrior like that, and another thorn spiked his heart. He wondered if life would be better for him in RidgeClan, where the cats seemed to have good news and normal lives.

“Last but not least, our loyal warrior Frogsong has moved to join the elders. She elected to stay back at camp tonight due to some joint issues, but she sends her kind regards to all of her acquaintances here. She was a formidable warrior, and she deserves the peace and relaxation she now has. That is all; RidgeClan has nothing more to announce.”

Featherstar settled back onto the rock, glancing coolly around the Isle. Her Clan seemed shocked by something, and a few warriors mumbled inaudibly to themselves. Brightpaw saw Berrylight and RidgeClan’s black-and-white deputy, apparently named Patchsky, exchange a glance, then look out over their own Clan with concern. He didn’t have time to wonder what was wrong before Featherstar turned to the other leaders on the rock and said, loud enough to be heard,

“Well? Get on with it, Sleetstar.”

The big-eared tom scowled at Featherstar’s pushy request, but he stood anyways and spoke with a voice deeper than his skinny frame accounted for.

“FrostClan has lost several fine cats since the last Gathering. Our elder Lakereed has frozen to death, as have our young Frigidkit and Snowpaw.”

“Oh, the poor kits,” Oxstep said under his breath. He sounded haunted, and Brightpaw understood why—the idea of a cat freezing to death before even getting to experience Clan life was horrible.

“Frigidkit’s sibling Cloudkit has survived,” Sleetstar continued. “We have also had one of our warriors, Icynose, move into the elder’s den. However, we fear our elders may be unable to survive for much longer. Prey does not run well in our territory, and medicine is very hard to come by.”

Sleetstar turned to glare at Amberstar, who held his gaze steadily and not-so-subtly unsheathed his claws. The crowd of FrostClan cats began casting angry glances sideways as all of PineClan shifted uncomfortably. Brightpaw looked around at the discomfort, confused.

“Have you any more announcements, Sleetstar?” Amberstar asked, breaking the tense silence. “Anything more to…confess, perhaps?”

“Nothing of the sort,” Sleetstar said.

“Are you certain?”

The entirety of FrostClan rippled indignantly, tails lashing, all eyes locked on Amberstar. The only FrostClan cat who didn’t seem angry with PineClan’s leader sat at the back of the crowd in the shadow of a slate pile. She was a pretty black cat with yellow eyes, and yet Brightpaw thought she looked off. It was only when she shifted that Brightpaw realized she had no ears. Whoever she was, she seemed to be part of FrostClan, and yet she was glaring at Sleetstar with an intensity that could only be hatred.

Brightpaw’s attention was sharply pulled away from the earless she-cat by Amberstar’s loud hiss. While he’d been staring at the strange she-cat, Amberstar must have broken the accusations against FrostClan to the gathered cats. PineClan and FrostClan as a whole had both turned to face each other angrily while their leaders fought. At the far left of the clearing, the RidgeClan cats watched on in silent interest.

“FrostClan cats are not thieves!” Sleetstar said. Even Brightpaw, with his limited experience, could tell the leader was forcing himself to remain civil.

“Then explain how one of our warriors found prey reeking of FrostClan on  _ our _ side of the river!” Amberstar yowled.

Brightpaw felt a pang in his chest. One of their  _ warriors _ ? Was Amberstar not going to acknowledge his discovery, or had he already forgotten? Oxstep hissed angrily under his breath. Brightpaw locked eyes with Daisysky across the sea of angry cats, and her expression showed that she was concerned as well.

“Perhaps,” a blue-grey tom at the foot of the boulder called, “the prey was left over from when that was  _ our _ territory?”

“Stay  _ out _ of this, Bluesky!” Amberstar growled, scraping his claws against the boulder hard enough to leave white marks.

“Why? Because you’d like to forget what PineClan has done to us? Our Clan is dying because of Needlestar’s greed!”

“So you admit to stealing our prey!” Amberstar screeched and jumped off of the rock, lumbering up to Bluesky. “You admit to making a mockery of PineClan!”

“We have done no such thing!” Sleetstar jumped down between his deputy and the furious PineClan leader. “And I will not have you threaten my deputy on this, a night of peace!”

“ _ I _ will not have a  _ deputy _ speak to  _ me _ , a leader many moons his senior, as if we were equals! And I will certainly not stand for him speaking out of turn!”

Featherstar did not move, and instead watched the two leaders fight with oddly eager eyes. Patchsky stepped up to try and pry the toms apart, but Daisysky’s fur bristled and she backed away from Amberstar, an act of cowardice that surprised Brightpaw. All three medicine cats surged forward to confront the quarreling leaders and deputy, who were a claw swipe away from starting an all-out battle between their furious Clans.

“That’s enough!” Greylight yowled, loud enough to shock every cat on the Isle to silence. “Our warrior ancestors will not have you disrespecting the truce of the Gathering!”

“Your quarreling has already invoked the wrath of StarClan,” said RidgeClan’s medicine cat, a light brown cat with wiry, matted fur. “Look!”

All the cats on the Gathering Isle looked up almost in unison. The deep black of the night sky was lightening to a bruised purple-blue, and behind the peaks of the Wasteland, Brightpaw could see the pink clouds reflecting the rising sun.

“Tangledlight is right,” Featherstar said, leaping down from the rock. “StarClan have left us for your insolence. This Gathering is over. RidgeClan is going home.”

Featherstar waded through the crowd of RidgeClan cats, swishing her tail to gather them behind her as she headed towards the western side of the Gathering Isle. Berrylight muttered something to Greylight and exchanged a nervous glance with him before following her leader home.

“My Clan is leaving as well,” Sleetstar announced, still standing between Amberstar and Bluesky. “But I won’t forget this insult to FrostClan’s integrity, Amberstar.”

All of the cats dispersed, shooting one another angry glances and hisses. Brightpaw looked for the earless cat among the FrostClan crowd, but she’d disappeared. He took up the rear and slowly made his way toward the boulder path across the lake, head spinning with the twists and turns this Gathering had taken.  _ Is it always this hectic? _ he wondered.

Before he could catch up to his Clan, though, another cat trotted up to his side. He looked over to see Halfear giving him an unreadable look.

“Hello, Brightpaw,” said the pale grey tom.

“U-uh…hello, Halfear.” Brightpaw was frightened—Halfear was definitely not one of the few PineClan cats who liked him. Did he do something wrong?

“I couldn’t help but notice you were chatting with Nightpatch and Barkface earlier.”

Brightpaw thought back to being yelled at by the two toms and winced. He’d nearly forgotten about it during all of the chaos.

“Did you overhear any of what they were talking about?” Halfear asked.

Brightpaw felt his paw pads turn to ice. He looked forward and kept walking, though Halfear matched his pace stride for stride. Had he been listening? If Brightpaw said something, were Nightpatch and Barkface going to be in trouble? But then, Halfear was definitely going to tell Amberstar whatever he said. Would  _ he _ get in  _ more _ trouble with Amberstar if he  _ didn’t _ say something? If he did, then he’d get in more trouble with the entire Clan,  _ especially _ Daisysky.

“Well, Brightpaw?”

He didn’t have enough time to think this through. He wasn’t much of a liar. He had to think of a response that wasn’t going to make any cat upset with him, but what?

“They were…um, they were talking about PineClan, is all!” That wasn’t a lie, but it was still vague enough, right?

“Hm. I see. Thank you, Brightpaw,” Halfear said. He broke away from Brightpaw and ran up to the last few PineClan cats left on the Gathering Isle, shouldering through them to get to Amberstar. They began muttering to each other and glancing around. Amberstar looked across the clearing at Brightpaw once or twice, much to the apprentice’s horror.

Brightpaw nervously ducked his head as he passed Amberstar and quickly leapt onto the first boulder of the path. The glint in Halfear’s eyes was all too familiar to Brightpaw.

Someone was in trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A super eventful chapter for you all! I'm coming up on 100 views now, so I was wondering if maybe I should do something special? If you all would be interested in some sort of Warriors-related writing giveaway over on my Twitter, please let me know in the comments!
> 
> You can find me on Twitter as @FionaBuny for art and updates, or even just to chat!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amberstar calls a Clan meeting.

###  Part One, Chapter Six 

The moment Brightpaw set foot in camp, he made his way to the border wall, hauled himself up onto a rock, and sprawled out on his back to enjoy the little sun reaching under the forest’s canopy. His paws throbbed and his head ached from all of the traveling and talking, and he wanted nothing more than to sleep until the next one. He shut his eyes, grateful for this moment of peace….

“How was the Gathering?”

Brightpaw groaned and rolled onto his side. He looked up into the yellow eyes of Firkit, who stared down at him quizzically.

“Interesting, I guess? Tiring.” Brightpaw tried to close his eyes and ignore her, but Firkit tapped his side until he opened them again.

“What happened? Amberstar seems upset. He’s sulking in the den with Halfear and Daisysky. He kicked me and Mom out.”

“He confronted FrostClan about them stealing our prey and got angry,” Brightpaw said, giving as little detail as possible. “The Gathering ended before Sleetstar confessed.”

“Ugh, of course it did! Useless old busybodies.” She fluffed up her fur and squared her shoulders, giving off a sudden air of dignity. “When _I'm_ the leader of PineClan, I’ll just go to FrostClan and fight off Sleetstar myself.”

“Wouldn’t you get killed?”

“Not if I was a leader. Then I’d have nine lives, and I’d be able to claw some sense into whoever I please. I can think of a few other cats I’d like to do that to.” Firkit lifted a paw to examine her claws in thought.

Brightpaw listened to her ramblings, feeling an odd sense of peace. Firkit was the only cat in PineClan that made Brightpaw feel normal, by virtue of hating everyone else just as much as she hated him.

“Speaking of cats I’d like to give a hiding to, did you hear the news? Shrewshine’s come down with whitecough.”

“What? When did that happen? I’ve only been gone for one night!” Brightpaw struggled to his feet, surprised and paying much more attention now.

“Bentpaw realized he’s been coughing a lot, and he’s all tired and gross, so he brought him into the medicine hollow to check him out, and now he’s in quarantine. Greylight’s with him now, I think.”

Brightpaw almost felt relief at the thought of Shrewshine not being around to stare at him, but then caught himself and felt guilty. It was a selfish relief—as odd as Shrewshine could be, he didn’t deserve to come down with whitecough. From what little he’d heard, it was a horrible disease.

“I think I’ll go see him. Thank you for telling me, Firkit! I’ll tell you more about the Gathering some other time.”

“You promise?” Firkit asked, stepping in his way and giving him a stern look.

“I promise.”

“Good. I’m holding you to it, so don’t forget! I’m tired of being left out of the loop.”

Brightpaw nodded and leapt to the ground, pushing his aching feet toward the medicine cat’s hollow. He was feeling lighter now, though; it was nice talking to someone his age that wasn’t Bentpaw. He hoped that Firkit would be apprenticed soon, despite what Barkface and Nightpatch said at the Gathering. It would be nice to have a peer to train with.

Before Brightpaw could enter the medicine cat’s hollow, though, Amberstar appeared from the depths of the Clan’s den and leapt atop the hollow log.

“Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey join beneath the den for a Clan meeting!” he called, and the cats who had been chatting idly with friend groups turned to listen to their leader speak. Daisysky stepped out of the den and took her place underneath Amberstar, ears folded and eyes turned down to the ground.

“First, I would like to acknowledge what you’ve surely heard about the Gathering,” Amberstar began. “It is shocking, I know. But the truth of the matter is FrostClan refuses to confess to their crimes against PineClan. As such, my previous order still stands. We will have doubled patrols along the river border, and any FrostClan cats caught trespassing are to be killed. We must not allow them to think that PineClan will roll over and take this disrespect.”

The Clan’s reaction seemed to be split down the middle between approving nods and anxious glances. Barkface and Nightpatch eagerly flicked their tails, and Halfear’s eyes were bright with excitement. Yarrowbloom and Mossytail leaned on each other for support, and Brightpaw heard them muttering something about keeping PineClan safe from FrostClan attacks.

“I would also like to address the news I was met with upon returning from the Gathering. Yes, Shrewshine does indeed have whitecough. However, Bentpaw and Greylight have him quarantined, and they are working hard to make sure he recovers swiftly. There is nothing to fear.”

The crowd of cats seemed reassured by these words, and they all began to relax and disperse. However, Amberstar yowled for their attention once more.

“I am not finished!” he screeched. “You will not leave Clan meetings until I have dismissed you! Is that _clear_?”

Every cat’s pelt seemed to stand on end at his sudden energy, and a few cats even ducked their heads in fear.

“I called this meeting for something much more serious than to repeat news and orders I’ve already given. PineClan is in the possession of traitors!”

Shock rippled through the gathered cats, and Brightpaw’s stomach lurched when he noticed Halfear looking smug. He tried to catch a glimpse of Nightpatch and Barkface without looking too obvious. From what he saw, Nightpatch looked just as surprised as the rest of the Clan, while Barkface scuffled his paws nervously in the dirt.

“I overheard two cats discussing our weaknesses and _doubting my leadership_ at the Gathering this past night. Discussing our _secrets_ …with a _FrostClan_ warrior!” Amberstar hissed. The entire Clan bristled with him, their earlier excitement rekindled. Even typically mild Foxfur and Frondbreeze had angry glints in their eyes.

“Who was it?” several cats hissed. “Who are the traitors?”

“Everyone clear a circle in front of me,” Amberstar ordered, “and then, Nightpatch and Barkface, come forth.”

The Clan gasped as one, their heads swiveling to stare at the two toms. Nightpatch looked as if he’d just seen the moon fall out of the sky, and Barkface was muttering audible prayers to StarClan. Despite this, they both walked stiff-legged and stood with their tails between their legs before Amberstar.

“Well?” Amberstar said. “Have you anything to say for yourselves?”

“I’m sorry, Amberstar!” Nightpatch immediately dropped to the ground in a low crouch, whiskers kissing the dirt. “I was frustrated! I should never have criticized your leadership, Amberstar!”

“Frustrated?” Amberstar prodded. “What frustrated you enough to make you betray your own Clan? You, Nightpatch, one of my most loyal warriors!”

“I-I’ve been frustrated that I haven’t been a mentor yet!” Nightpatch said, his fur now fluffed to almost double his size. “Th-there just aren’t many apprentices in PineClan lately…at least no apprentices I would _want_ to mentor.”

Amberstar nodded and seemed to relax a bit at these words. Brightpaw thought Amberstar’s gaze flickered in his direction, but it was too fast of a movement to tell if it was just his imagination. Either way, he felt his heart drop. Across the clearing, Brightpaw saw Oxstep and Foxfur exchange a glance.

“You are not forgiven, Nightpatch, but I understand your frustrations now. You are a strong and loyal warrior, but perhaps you need to be reminded of just why you are loyal to me. I think I’ll have you on nightly patrols to the river border with another cat until you remember why we do not divulge Clan secrets to FrostClan cats.”

Trembling like a leaf, Nightpatch could only nod his approval. Through all of this, Barkface had slowly regained his composure, and was now staring up at Amberstar furiously.

“I will _not_ apologize,” Barkface announced.

The entirety of PineClan froze, some cats shocked and others horrified. Brightpaw suddenly realized just how grave this situation was.

“You…what?” Amberstar stared down at Barkface in hollow disbelief.

“I will not apologize! I have done nothing wrong! You’re the one at fault, Amberstar!” Words came tumbling out of Barkface like water over rocks. “You’ve become violent and ungrateful in your age, Amberstar! You forget that cats like me and Nightpelt are what keeps this Clan going, not you! You have ignored the needs of all the Clan’s cats, you have—”

“ _SILENCE!_ ” Amberstar roared.

In one swift movement he bounded down from the log, surged forward, and sliced his claws across Barkface’s face. The younger warrior yelped and turned his head just in time to save his eyes and nose, but he did have large, deep gashes along his jaw and the bridge of his muzzle. His blood dribbled onto his own paws as he stumbled backward, away from his attacker. However, Amberstar had suddenly become composed again, and was sitting with his paws neatly in front of him, as if the blood coating his right one was not there.

The entire Clan sat and watched in stunned silence, as if unsure whether to cheer or cry out. Daisysky flinched forward, as if wanting to help, but stopped herself and sat back again. Across the clearing and out of Amberstar’s line of sight, Oxstep bristled with fury, but Foxfur held him back by pressing her side into his. Brightpaw desperately wished she hadn’t.

“You are unworthy of your status as a warrior,” Amberstar said, his voice a low growl. “You are hardly worthy of your status as cat. And you certainly aren’t worthy of being a member of PineClan.”

“Exile him!” Halfear suddenly called, stamping his paws to banish the tense confusion from the air.

“Yes! Exile the traitor!” Yarrowbloom repeated, as if she’d forgotten what had just happened in her anger. Her white fur raised like icicles in her fury. “I never trusted him! Exile him!”

A few other cats joined the call, and Amberstar let them, basking in their approval. Brightpaw saw Frondbreeze draw Firkit closer and press her head into her chest, covering her daughter’s ears. Firkit pushed against her mother’s chest, shoving her so hard that she stumbled backwards, and turned to watch the commotion with an unreadable expression.

“Barkface!” Amberstar shouted over the crowd of angry PineClan cats. “For your crimes against PineClan, I find you unfit for the role of warrior, as defined by the law of StarClan! You are hereby _exiled_ from PineClan!”

“Fine!” the bleeding exile hissed. “I don’t want to be a part of a Clan run by a selfish brute anyways!”

“You have until moonrise to make your way to the Wasteland, where you will live out the rest of your days in exile,” Amberstar continued, as if Barkface hadn’t spoken. “After moonrise, you will be trespassing on our territory, and warriors will be allowed to deal with you as they see fit. You will never be welcomed back into PineClan!”

“Oh, no! I’m not going to rot alone in the Wasteland! I’m going to _FrostClan_!” Barkface said, causing another wave of shock. “Darkclaw is a good warrior; they’ll vouch for me. At least Sleetstar doesn’t silence his own warriors! Come on, Nightpatch!”

Barkface turned to leave, tail bristling, and the cats around him parted to let him through, though some spat and hissed at him as he left. When he realized Nightpatch wasn’t following, Barkface stopped and wheeled around, baring his claws and teeth.

“Nightpatch! Let’s go!”

“I don’t…you know that-that I can’t, Barkface,” Nightpatch said. “This is my home….”

“A home that doesn’t let you speak your mind! A home that lets elders get apprentices before worthy cats like you and I! Is that a home worth defending?”

“I-I can’t, Barkface,” Nightpatch repeated. “I belong here. There’s…I can’t.”

“What about me? Us?! Don’t you want us to be together? We can go and be with Darkclaw, just like we always wanted!”

“I don’t, um, don’t know what you’re talking about….”

“Oh, you _coward!_ You liar! You’d give us up? You’d give up me and Darkclaw, cats you’ve loved for _years_ , for…for _this_?!”

“I’m sorry, Barkface, I—”

“No! Don’t speak to me! I’m telling Darkclaw everything you’ve said, you coward! I don’t want you ever speaking to us again!”

And with that, Barkface stalked out of camp, leaving a thin trail of blood behind him. Nightpatch sat huddled beside Amberstar, broken and shaking, as his leader nonchalantly turned to a stricken-looking Daisysky and began planning out patrol schedules. Some cats broke away from the crowd looking satisfied, others idled in the clearing, expressions unreadable.

“Are you okay, Brightpaw?” a voice asked. Brightpaw turned to see his father rushing up to him just before he was bowled over and showered with licks, as if he were a kit.

“I’m fine, Dad! I promise,” he said, though as Oxstep drew him closer, he noticed that he’d been shaking. A dull and tired part of him wondered how long that had been going on for.

“Exiling doesn’t happen often,” Oxstep told his son, “but I’m sorry you had to experience one, especially while you’re so young.”

“It’s okay, Dad, I’m okay.” Brightpaw was lying, but it was more important to please his fretting father. His eyes kept drifting back to the cowering Nightpatch and the trail of blood.

“Would you like to hunt, Brightpaw? Or maybe go for a walk, take your mind off what just happened?”

“Yeah, I think I’d like a hunt, Dad,” Brightpaw said. He wanted to be useful to his Clan, now for more reasons than just fulfilling his duty.

As they left, Brightpaw consciously shuffled his paws in the dirt, trying to cover the bloody trail leading out of camp in a layer of dust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Realized just last night that I didn't publish this chapter last week...oops! I'm publishing now though! However, I'm thinking that if I'm so busy that I could forget to update, maybe I ought to wait on that raffle until I'm a bit less busy.... But I'm still super grateful for 100 views, and I hope everyone keeps enjoying the series!
> 
> You can find me on Twitter as @FionaBuny for art and updates, or even just to chat! (Thinking about getting a Tumblr as well, but not sure yet?)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bentpaw makes a mistake.

###  Part One, Chapter Seven 

Brightpaw ducked under the swipe of his father’s paw, backing up further and further. He knew the bushes behind him were about to trap him. He dodged another blow, then reared up to bring his paws down onto Oxstep’s head to disorient them. Oxstep gave a yowl of triumph and tackled his son’s stomach, sending him flying back into the dirt.

Brightpaw hissed in frustration as his father pinned him down briefly in the tundra’s brittle grasses. The instant the noise left him, Oxstep was upon him, checking every inch of fur for a wound and apologizing profusely.

“Are you alright? Are you okay? Where does it hurt, son?”

“I’m fine! Just frustrated.” He scratched angrily at the dirt. “I hardly lasted longer than a shake of the tail before you pinned me.”

“But it’s a good learning experience!” Oxstep said, curling his tail around his son. “Sparring is the best way to find out your weak spots and work on them. For instance, you defend much more than you attack! We ought to work on that next time.”

Brightpaw couldn’t fathom how warriors managed themselves in real fights. How could you surge into danger like that, knowing you could get horribly wounded, or even die? He wasn’t sure he’d ever understand, either, and the thought made him sullen.

“Do you think I’ll ever be able to set paw on a real battlefield?” Brightpaw asked, looking up into Oxstep’s warm golden eyes.

“Of course, son!” he purred. “We all make mistakes while we’re apprenticed. StarClan knows, even senior warriors still make mistakes during fights! You’ve got nothing to worry about. You’re already shaping up to be an amazing warrior.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Brightpaw’s heart swelled; at least his father thought he was a good warrior, even if no one else did. “It’s only because I have such a good mentor!”

Oxstep simply purred deep in his chest and pressed his side against Brightpaw’s, sharing pelts as they walked. It was moments like these that made Brightpaw think his life wasn’t destined to be horrible. He wished his father wasn’t so loyal to PineClan; maybe if he wasn’t, they could run away and live together, father and son against the world. It sounded much nicer than a camp full of nervous and hateful cats who scrutinized his every move.

Just then, Oxstep froze and his gaze locked onto a rustling bush, motioning for Brightpaw to stop and listen. Something big was downwind, and they were very close to camp. Brightpaw and Oxstep both silently skirted around the bush, one cat on each side, almost automatically. Brightpaw stepped lightly, ready to pounce on the threat, but then the wind shifted and carried a familiar scent to his nose.

“Bentpaw?” his father called, surprised. “Where are you? We can smell you!”

Brightpaw spotted Bentpaw crouched among the leaves of the underbrush, his tabby pelt blending in very well with the twigs and bracken beneath a prickly bush. He nodded towards the medicine cat apprentice—swallowing a pang of jealousy—and both cats approached him.

“What are you doing so far from camp?” Oxstep asked, crouching down to Bentpaw’s level. “Does Greylight know you’re out here alone?”

“We can take you back to camp, if you’re scared,” Brightpaw added earnestly.

“I’m not scared, flea-brain!” Bentpaw hissed. “I’m busy!”

“It would do you well to show your fellow clanmates some respect,” Oxstep said, drawing himself up to his full height. His voice was stern, but not angry, though Brightpaw did notice his ear twitching.

“I-I’m sorry, Oxstep,” Bentpaw said, ducking his head even lower to the ground.

“Apologize to Brightpaw, as well. He’s only trying to comfort you.”

“I’m sorry… _ Brightpaw _ .” Bentpaw didn’t seem sincere, but Brightpaw was still impressed.  _ Bentpaw _ , apologizing to  _ him _ ? It was almost too good to be true.

“Now answer my questions. What are you doing out here without Greylight?”

“Greylight…doesn’t know I’m out here. I-I messed up. I came out here to fix it.” Bentpaw crawled out from underneath the bush and scuffed his paws in the bracken. For once, he wasn’t smug or angry.

“What happened?” Oxstep sat down next to Bentpaw. Brightpaw remained standing and resisted the urge to hiss in frustration. A cat as mean as Bentpaw getting his father’s attention and kindness made him feel  _ strange _ .

“I dropped mouse bile all over our horehound stores!” Bentpaw admitted, almost howling. “They’re ruined, and I can’t find more! Horehound is so hard to find…and Shrewshine is still sick…Greylight is gonna claw me into mousemeat! I’m done for!”

Brightpaw knew that horehound was the only herb in their territory that could cure whitecough, and for a cat as old as Shrewshine, it took a lot of horehound. It usually wasn’t a problem, because whitecough was a rarity in PineClan, much more common in colder territories with fewer plants. But Shrewshine had been sick for a moon now, and even one missed dose of horehound leaves could turn his whitecough to greencough, a much more fatal and contagious disease that could start an outbreak.

“Bentpaw, I’m sure Greylight will understand that it was an accident,” Oxstep said, “but running off without explaining yourself will only make the mess look worse. How about we take you home, you can explain what happened, and then we can organize some patrols to find more horehound?”

Bentpaw nodded, though he was obviously still frightened. Oxstep urged him to his feet, and the three cats returned to camp, going slowly with Bentpaw’s limp in mind. Brightpaw kept shooting silent, sympathetic glances at Bentpaw, but if the other apprentice noticed, he gave no indication. As much as Brightpaw disliked Bentpaw, he knew the stomach-drop, prickly paws feeling of messing up and failing better than anyone.

Soon the three cats were at the stone pass to PineClan’s camp. The three collected some nearby cobwebs so the current guard, Rabbitfoot, would let them through. The camp was empty, with most warriors out hunting or on patrols. Greylight was pacing in front of his hollow, the pile of ruined horehound sitting outside as he waited for his apprentice to return. The instant Bentpaw entered camp, Greylight’s head snapped up, tipping sideways to bring his one good eye forward in a way that was suddenly scary, instead of endearing like it had always been to Brightpaw.

“BENTPAW! Get over here,  _ now _ !” he yelled. Bentpaw flinched as if struck, then slowly limped his way towards Greylight, his tail between his legs.

“I’m going to go back him up,” Oxstep said to his son. “Greylight doesn’t get angry often, but when he does, he can be very harsh. We’ll eat and chat later, okay?”

“Alright, Dad,” Brightpaw said, watching as his father left. He tried not to listen in on Bentpaw’s scolding, but it was difficult to ignore without the bustle of a full camp.

“I cannot  _ believe _ this!” Greylight hissed. “I cannot believe how foolish you’ve been!”

“It was a mistake, Greylight,” Oxstep said. “He’s just an apprentice.”

“He’s a  _ medicine cat _ apprentice! Mistakes are expected, surely, but when you’re working with medicine, those mistakes can cost a cat  _ their life _ !”

“I’m sorry, Greylight—” Bentpaw began, but his mentor cut him off to rant again:

“Not only have you destroyed our medicine stores while a cat’s life depends on them, but you’ve destroyed the stores for a very precious herb! We don’t line our dens with horehound for a  _ reason _ , Bentpaw! This is the  _ worst _ mistake you could have made….”

Greylight continued on, deflecting everything Bentpaw and Oxstep said, but Brightpaw was suddenly gripped by a memory that distracted him. He remembered seeing some horehound somewhere…he’d noticed their tiny white flowers somewhere else, he just couldn’t put his paw on it….

Then it came rushing back to him: the cliffs! The ones near the rapids, southeast of camp! When he and his father snuck out, the night before he was apprenticed, they’d rested near a patch of horehound. It had been almost six moons ago, and he had no idea why he remembered such a thing, but it was Shrewshine’s only chance. Plus, getting Bentpaw out of trouble would be a good first step to making peace.

Brightpaw started toward the three cats, but then he realized that Greylight looked absolutely wild with anger, and Oxstep was very busy trying to calm him down. The last thing Brightpaw wanted was to be yelled at and ignored by one of the few cats he looked up to…. Plus, he was pretty much full grown, wasn’t he? Older apprentices ought to be able to come and go from camp as they pleased, if they weren’t causing trouble.

He made his decision in an instant. While the other cats were busy arguing, he turned and bolted out of camp, ignoring Rabbitfoot’s questioning, silent glance as he passed her.

His paws carried him as quickly despite his exhaustion from the hunt. The pines grew dense as he whipped past them, excited at the prospect of being useful. Maybe he could do this all of the time? He could make a new role for himself: Herb-Fetcher. That way, the Clan’s cats wouldn’t have to go out looking for plants instead of hunting. Maybe that would finally make him a worthy member of PineClan!

The pines around him grew shorter and the underbrush denser as he got closer to the rocky hills at the very edge of PineClan’s territory. Here there were more boulders for him to scale and more rocks to stub his toes on. Brightpaw slowed to a stroll and poked around, opening his mouth and sniffing every inch of forest. He examined the roots of every pine, though they all looked so similar that he couldn’t pinpoint the one where he and his father had rested.

Finally, Brightpaw caught a faint, bitter scent on the wind, and he eagerly followed it to the foot of a tall pine tree. Among its roots stood the stiff stalks of horehound, sprinkled with small white flowers. Brightpaw quickly pulled up a big pile, though he kept plenty still rooted—it was only a small patch, after all, and he wasn’t sure if this was the only place horehound currently grew in the forest.

As he bent to collect the pile of flowers, Brightpaw suddenly got a chill up his spine. 

Something was watching him.

He looked around, praying to StarClan it wasn’t something dangerous. Then, straight ahead of him in the brush, he spotted a black shadow with yellow eyes.

“Um, hello? Is someone there?” Brightpaw called, frightened. There were no black cats with yellow eyes in PineClan. “Hey, um, I can see you, you know.”

The black cat flinched, then turned and fled. Brightpaw only gave chase for a few moments before losing sight of her, but he knew who she was now, at least. She was a member of FrostClan, one that he’d seen at the Gathering—the pretty black cat with no ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Sorry for the sudden hiatus.... A certain someone had a COVID scare, so that took up a lot of my time, especially with college being on top of that. But I'm going to try to be more consistent now! I missed writing for this a lot!
> 
> You can find me on Twitter as @FionaBuny for art and updates, or even just to chat! (Thinking about getting a Tumblr as well, but not sure yet?)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brightpaw and Shrewshine have a chat.

###  Part One, Chapter Eight 

Brightpaw stumbled back into camp, his paws sore and his nose aching from the cloying scent of horehound. Rabbitfoot watched him enter the camp with curious eyes, but said nothing and scratched idly at her scraggly pelt. One day Brightpaw would figure out why she never talked, but not today.

A few more cats had arrived—a hunting patrol, it seemed. Amberstar and Greylight were exchanging words with Bentpaw, though it didn’t look like scolding. Oxstep was pacing around camp with his ears flattened and his tail fluffed, while Foxfur sat nearby and spoke softly to him. It was Daisysky, who was speaking with Mossytail between the den and the medicine hollow, who noticed Brightpaw first.

“There he is!” she called, relieved.

Brightpaw trotted up to the gathered cats and dropped the horehound in front of Greylight and Bentpaw.

“You don’t have to be upset with Bentpaw anymore, Greylight!” Brightpaw said, mosing the pile of herbs forward. “I found some—”

“Where have you  _ been _ ?” Amberstar growled. He didn’t seem to notice the horehound.

“We’ve got a patrol of cats out looking for you!” Greylight joined, though he looked more concerned than angry.

“I went, er, um, I went to get some horehound.” Brightpaw was shocked. Sure, maybe he ought to have mentioned where he was going, but he just saved a life! Wasn’t that a good thing? “I, um, I remembered where some was, so—”

“And you left camp  _ alone _ to get it?” Oxstep padded up to the other cats. “Brightpaw, what were you thinking?”

Upsetting his father was the last thing Brightpaw wanted, and he felt his confidence shatter when he realized how disappointed Oxstep was. He hung his head and fell silent, certain that saying anything more would only make things worse.

“Do you understand what could have happened?” Amberstar continued. “With that orange fur of yours? A wolf or a fox could see you for miles! And what would happen if it traced your scent back to camp?”

“You’ve got the luck of StarClan, Brightpaw. The fact that you weren’t attacked is a miracle,” Greylight added.

Brightpaw thought of the earless she-cat watching him in the bushes. He knew that it was important to tell his clanmates about this intruder, but Amberstar would be furious if he knew that a FrostClan cat had been on their territory. If he knew Brightpaw had let an enemy escape, it could mean awful things for his status as an apprentice, as well. His leader was already angry enough…he would mention it later, to some cat that hated him less.

“You know why he did it?” Bentpaw said, stepping forward so that he was almost nose to nose with Brightpaw. “He did it ‘cause he wants to steal my job!”

“N-no!” Brightpaw yelped. “That’s not true!”

“You’ve had it out for me since the day you were apprenticed,” Bentpaw hissed. “You know you’ll make an awful warrior, so you want to kick me out and take my place as medicine cat apprentice! Admit it!”

“That’s not true!” Brightpaw said, desperate. “I got this medicine so you can do your job! I don’t want to kick you out! Well, I mean, well, I always liked the idea of being medicine cat, sure, yeah, but—”

A few of the cats around him shuffled anxiously, and Brightpaw realized that that had been the exact wrong thing to say. He heard his father gasp and once he saw the hurt in his eyes, he lost the words to explain what he’d meant.

“You see! You see! He wants to steal my job!”

“What? Wait, no, I—”

“You leave me be! I don’t want you anywhere near the medicine cat’s den!”

“Now, Bentpaw, you hold on a minute!” Greylight shoved himself between the two apprentices. “Regardless of your personal feelings, you cannot ban a cat from treatment! That is no way for a medicine cat to speak to a clanmate!”

“But he wants to make me look bad so he can take my job!” Bentpaw said. “We shouldn’t trust him!”

Greylight sized up both Brightpaw and Bentpaw for a moment, then sighed.

“Regardless of his motives, Brightpaw has done PineClan a great service. Amberstar, I suggest we let this go.”

“Let this go?” Amberstar said, incredulous. “Never! Brightpaw must learn that he has the potential to put us all in grave danger! What if he’d led something back? What if he’d let a wolf get a taste for cat blood?”

Brightpaw shivered at the feeling of ghostly teeth in his shoulders. Was that all he was in Amberstar’s eyes: a danger? Potential bait for predators?

“Brightpaw will not be going to any more Gatherings any time soon,” Amberstar declared. “ _ And _ he will be checking the elders for fleas before they enter the den each night.”

Most of the cats in the clearing looked satisfied with this, even Greylight. He hurriedly scooped up the horehound and left to treat Shrewshine with only a nod of approval. Bentpaw stood to follow his mentor, but paused to bat Brightpaw upside the head.

“Hey!” Oxstep hissed, shoving Bentpaw away with an outstretched paw. Brightpaw just took the blow, knowing that fighting back would make him look worse.

“You keep your son away from me,” Bentpaw said, his previous deference gone. “I want nothing to do with him!” Then he turned and limped rapidly away, crawling into the medicine cat’s hollow under the great pine.

Amberstar turned and headed towards Daisysky, who was staring at Brightpaw with an unreadable expression. They exchanged a few words before crawling into the den, kicking out a groggy Shadowfall and Sapfur for privacy. Brightpaw was certain they were going to talk about him, and he felt his stomach drop.

“Please don’t leave camp without me, son,” Oxstep said, drawing Brightpaw’s limp body to his chest with one of his great big paws. “I know it was an emergency, but I was very scared when I realized you’d left!”

“I’m sorry, Dad,” Brightpaw said. He felt horrible for worrying Oxstep, angering Bentpaw and his leader, and upsetting the rest of the Clan. Maybe he really was just a nuisance, after all.

“It’s okay, Brightpaw. Just know that I’m here to help you and protect you. You can tell me anything at all, I promise.”

“Anything?” The earless FrostClan cat crossed his mind again. Maybe he could trust his father not to be upset?

“We didn’t find him!” a voice called from the rock pass. A group of cats—the patrol sent out to look for Brightpaw—were entering camp, each one holding a purple daisy to get past the guard. Among them were an annoyed looking Halfear and Yarrowbloom, and surprisingly, his mother, Dewfreeze, though she didn’t seem concerned. Also among them was Nightpatch, who looked incredibly haggard as he flopped onto his side in the clearing. Between his forced nightly patrols and meeting all his other duties, he’d hardly had time to rest since his punishment began a moon ago.

“I’m going to go tell them what happened,” Oxstep said, giving his son an affectionate nudge. “You stay here so they don’t come after you.”

Brightpaw watched his father approach the group of tired and irked cats, feeling guilty. He’d thrown the Clan into a panic, just to avoid getting yelled at. Or maybe they would have been just as angry with him either way? Nothing he did to cheer them up ever worked.

_ StarClan, if you’re really out there, then why is this happening to me?  _ he silently asked.  _ Why was I born if I can’t serve my Clan? What am I meant to do? _

His prayer was interrupted by a paw prodding gently at his side. He started, then turned to see Greylight looking down at him coldly with his one good eye. The older grey cat sat down beside him and looked up at the trees as he spoke.

“Is it true? Do you want to be a medicine cat so badly you’d slander Bentpaw’s name?”

“Of course not,” Brightpaw said. He was still comfortable enough around Greylight to be frank with him. “I sometimes wish I could be PineClan's medicine cat, but I know that’s not the path StarClan has set out for me. And I would never hurt another cat out of jealousy. I promise, Greylight.”

The medicine cat seemed to mull over his words for a moment.

“I know,” he finally said. “I didn’t think it sounded like you. You aren’t a bad cat, Brightpaw. I just wish you’d….”

Greylight sighed and shook his head. Brightpaw was too pleasantly surprised to ask for more details. He tried to memorize what Greylight sounded like when he said “you aren’t a bad cat” so he could remember it later.

“Shrewshine wants to speak with you,” Greylight said, changing the subject. “Just be careful not to speak with him too long. He’s very likely still contagious, but he insisted on seeing you.”

Brightpaw’s pads prickled with discomfort. The last thing he needed right now was exchanging awkward words with Shrewshine. Or maybe he was just being called in so Shrewshine could stare at him for a long time, to make up for all the days he’d missed while quarantined? Brightpaw was not looking forward to seeing him, but he nodded respectfully to Greylight and made his way to the medicine cat’s hollow.

It looked just the same as it always did, except Shrewshine’s white fuzzy bulk was smack in the middle of the floor. Brightpaw reckoned he was too big to use the nursing den to recover, and so someone made him a mossy nest here instead. A few leaves and petals were all that remained of his daily dose of horehound. Bentpaw was busy very carefully storing away the rest of the precious horehound stalks one by one in a crevice of roots, but when he heard Brightpaw enter, he turned and left without a glance. And so Brightpaw was left with Shrewshine, an old cat whose piercing stare was all he knew about him.

The consul laid still for a few moments, and Brightpaw wondered if he’d fallen asleep, but then his big orange eyes opened and locked Brightpaw in place. This was the closest Brightpaw had ever been to Shrewshine, and it was only now that he noticed white speckles in his irises, as if they were spotted with stars.

“Hello, Brightf— Brightpaw,” Shrewshine said. He seemed uncharacteristically present, and his voice was soft and lilting.

“Hello.”

The two cats lapsed into a painful silence. Brightpaw scuffed his paws and looked around the hollow, wondering what he could possibly say to fill the air.

“You have saved my life,” Shrewshine suddenly said, lifting his head off of his paws. “Thank you very much.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Brightpaw said. “It was for the good of PineClan…a-and I wouldn’t have liked to see you die.” Despite how oddly he behaved around Brightpaw, Shrewshine was still a clanmate—Brightpaw would have grieved for him.

“You are an important cat, Brightpaw.” Shrewshine’s voice softened even more. His eyes were kind for the first time Brightpaw could ever remember, and he couldn’t decide if this cheered or frightened him.

“I’m not, really,” he said, bowing to lick his chest fur awkwardly.

“You are. StarClan has told me so.”

“StarClan?” Brightpaw was shocked and confused. “StarClan talks about me?”

“The cats of StarClan tell me about everyone,” Shrewshine explained. “But I am not allowed to share much of it. It makes for interesting conversations, though.”

Brightpaw was suddenly hit with a pang of pity—was that why Shrewshine hardly spoke? Was he filled with things he could never tell another living cat?

“Are you allowed to tell me what they say about me?” Brightpaw knew this was a disrespectful and prying question, but he simply  _ had _ to know.

“Not much of it, no. But I  _ can  _ tell you you’re as important as any cat in PineClan.”

“Oh. I understand.” Brightpaw tried not to let his disappointment leak into his voice.

“However…. You have saved my life today. This means you are on your path. And I suppose, as a sort of reward, I can tell you what StarClan told me on the day of your birth.”

“And what’s that?”

Shrewshine sat up, and his head began lolling gently back and forth. The kind light vanished from his eyes, replaced with the familiar vacant expression that made Brightpaw’s skin crawl. Shrewshine spoke absently, as if in a dream:

“There are movements in the tundra, and the beating of wings in a sky without light. We must meet the avalanche head-on if we are to survive, with the stars fading behind us as we go. That is what they said about you, Brightpaw.”

Brightpaw was overwhelmed with a need to leave, to stop Shrewshine’s gaze from touching him. All these creepy, unsettling words…was his birth a sign of bad things to come? How could StarClan say such things about him?

“Uh, uh, um…. I think I should be going, Sh-Shrewshine,” Brightpaw said, backing away from the consul. He understood better than ever why his father was unnerved by Shrewshine.

“Brightpaw!” Shrewshine took a few shaky steps toward him before his sick body collapsed. Brightpaw stood frozen and horrified, wondering if he should call for help.

“I, um, uh, I—what is it? What else?”

“Brightpaw, tell no one of her,” Shrewshine told him, urgent. “Tell no one! She is no danger, but she is here for a reason. We promise she will harm no one. Tell no one!”

Brightpaw knew instantly that Shrewshine meant the she-cat with no ears, and he almost fainted on his paws. How did Shrewshine know about her? What was she doing here that was so important? Why was he telling Brightpaw all of this at once?

“Tell no one, Brightpaw! All of this depends on you. The Clan needs you.”

It was all too much for the apprentice, and the enclosed space of the medicine hollow was making it harder to breathe. He skittered desperately out of the hollow, his claws scoring the earth a bit. He found a corner of camp far from the medicine cat’s hollow and pressed himself against a craggy boulder, feeling dizzy.

He knew that medicine cats and consuls dealt in the strange world of prophecies sent down from StarClan, of course, but had never even dreamed of one centering around him. What was going to happen to him? Why was he important? Was he going to make all of those bad things happen—the avalanche, the stars disappearing—or was he supposed to stop it?

But the most important question on his mind was this: If he was so important to PineClan, then why would StarClan let everyone else treat him so poorly?

StarClan must have the wrong cat, he decided. There was no way he could be important to PineClan if none of his clanmates gave him the time of day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I'm getting back into the loop with writing, so here's another chapter for you all! Another cool announcement: I just got a Tumblr! I realized that a lot of people have Tumblrs in the Warriors fandom rather than Twitters, so now I've got both!
> 
> You can find me on Twitter as @FionaBuny and on Tumblr as @Bloodinthetundra for art and updates, or even just to chat!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Firkit and Brightpaw have a chat.

###  Part One, Chapter Nine 

Brightpaw ambled into camp with Oxstep after a long day of hunting. He was carrying a piece of freshkill that his father had caught to get through Burrfang’s strict guarding; he hadn’t been able to catch a single thing in the brightness of No-Moon.

He quickly tore through a nuthatch, eating with his father in comfortable silence. He felt his pelt prickle and turned to see Shrewshine staring at him in the corner between the den and freshkill store, just like old times. He’d made a full recovery a few days ago, and now was allowed to wander about camp like usual. They hadn’t spoken since Brightpaw’s frightening encounter with the consul, and the confusing things he’d said still cluttered the apprentice’s brain, though he tried not to think about them much.

As Brightpaw ate, a patrol of cats trotted through the stone pass to camp. Mossytail and Halfear were chatting away happily on their way to the freshkill store. A few moments after them, Nightpatch hobbled into camp. Amberstar had shown no signs of ending or even lightening his punishment, and the constant patrolling was taking a heavy toll on the cat’s body. He collapsed just a fox length or two away from the entrance, too exhausted to even get himself a meal. Brightpaw and his father watched with palpable discomfort.

“How about you go do your duty for the elders, Brightpaw,” Oxstep said, picking up the squirrel he’d started. “I’ll be back to curl up in the den with you when it’s time to sleep.”

Brightpaw watched as Oxstep brought his meal over to Nightpatch and crouched to speak with the tired black-and-white tom. He was suddenly struck by the thought that he felt such deep pity for a cat that was so cruel to him. Some part of him missed Barkface, too, even though the last thing he did was beat Brightpaw over the head. He could only hope that FrostClan had let him stay with them.

Feeling odd about these realizations, Brightpaw padded over to where the elders were lounging. Shadowfall and Sapfur were deep in their own world, as usual, so it was Burrfang who saw him first.

“I see we’ve got the wannabe medicine cat again,” Burrfang grunted, swallowing the last of a vole. “It’s been days. Has Amberstar said you can stop bothering us yet?”

“Not yet,” Brightpaw said. “Where’s my…where’s Dewfreeze?”

“Can’t even call her his mother,” Sapfur sighed and shook his head. Brightpaw hated that he and his mate gossiped about other cats so blatantly, but he hated being talked about behind his back more, he supposed.

“She’s taking a nap in the den,” Burrfang said. “I wouldn’t bother her, if I were you. You know how she feels about you.”

“Of course.” The entire camp knew he was an embarrassment to his mother—he barely considered himself her son. Burrfang only brought it up to rub it in, and Brightpaw knew it. The elder knew how to get under Brightpaw’s fur better than most other cats in PineClan. He wondered if Amberstar got his meanness from his father.

“Well, come here!” Burrfang said, settling on his side. “Fleas aren’t going to crack themselves!”

Brightpaw settled down and began parting Burrfang’s greasy fur, searching for bugs. Now that he’d been doing this for a third of a moon, the elders were pretty much out of fleas and ticks for him to crack, but he knew Amberstar would receive complaints if he was anything less than thorough.

“You’re getting pretty old, Brightpaw,” Burrfang said, his tone suspiciously casual. “I’m surprised you’ve lived this long without a hawk deciding to have an easy meal.”

Brightpaw shivered but said nothing, now parting the fur between Burrfang’s shoulders.

“You’ve been an apprentice for so many moons now,” the elder continued. “I think you might be the oldest apprentice I can remember. How does that feel?”

Burrfang paused, waiting for an answer he knew wouldn’t come, before continuing:

“I was only an apprentice for a few moons before I proved myself to old Sprucestar. He was my mentor, you know. I even beat him in a spar! Can you believe that, Brightpaw?”

Brightpaw flinched at the sudden pang of longing and jealousy that washed over him. What would that be like, to be made an apprentice so quickly, with the full support of your leader and clanmates? To be  _ mentored _ by your leader? The sort of honor he would never receive. He wasn’t even sure if he’d be named a warrior at all, at this rate.

“How long do you think it’ll be before Amberstar trusts you enough?” Burrfang asked, sensing his moment of weakness. “How many moons? Maybe by the time you’re given your name, you’ll be as old as I am. That is, if you ever  _ do _ get—”

“I’m done.” Brightpaw abruptly stood. “No ticks or fleas. Shadowfall, Sapfur, which one of you would like to be next?”

The two mates lovingly bickered about who should go first for a few moments before Brightpaw made the decision for them and settled next to Shadowfall.

Burrfang didn’t complain about being interrupted—he hurt Brightpaw’s feelings and made him doubt himself, and that was all he’d wanted. It was a sort of hobby for him, a source of entertainment. He could feel the elder’s pleased stare burning through his fur as he checked Shadowfall for ticks.

Before he could move on to Sapfur, Dewfreeze appeared from the depths of the den and shoved her way between the two mates, laying down wordlessly by her son. The two elder toms muttered angrily to themselves and moved a few tail lengths away to gossip in peace. Brightpaw assumed that this was her way of demanding to be checked, and began searching through her long white fur.

Being around his mother so often was tense and awkward, to say the least. She’d always made an effort to avoid him once he was old enough to survive on his own, and now that he was an apprentice, they crossed paths even less often. So now, having to be around Dewfreeze for so long every day, he was beginning to think more often about how she treated him. He was almost jealous of Firkit for having such a kind, doting mother, even if she seemed to not be quite so fond of Frondbreeze.

“Finished,” Brightpaw said, cracking a flea behind his mother’s ear. He turned to attend to Sapfur, but then his mother laid her tail in his path.

“They’re talking about you,” she said, though she was staring at the den instead of looking at him. Her voice was soft and rasped with age; he’d almost forgotten what it sounded like.

“What?” he asked.

“In the den. They’re talking about you. Thought you ought to know.”

Then Dewfreeze got up and padded over to the freshkill stores, not even glancing at her son as she left. He wondered if her intention was kindness or cruelty, but either way his curiosity outweighed his anxiety, since it would be easy to eavesdrop outside of the den.

Brightpaw snuck up to the den, careful to keep his pawsteps silent and stay out of sight. He could see two shadowy figures inside, and from the sound of their voices, he was listening in on a conversation between Frondbreeze and Amberstar.

“But I can’t keep looking after her!” Frondbreeze hissed. “She is my duty as a mother, surely, but part of that duty is knowing when to let her go!”

“She isn’t ready,” Amberstar said, his voice as cool and distant as ever.

“Firkit is a fully grown cat!” Frondbreeze countered. “She’s been a kit for much too long, even by your standards, and there are plenty of warriors who need an apprentice!”

“My warriors are busy keeping themselves in shape and providing for our Clan. We may have an impending battle with FrostClan—I can’t relieve any of them from their duties just because you don’t feel like being a mother.”

“HOW DARE— No, no, I’m not going to let you distract me by making me angry,” Frondbreeze said, taking deep breaths. “You always did do that to me, Amberstar, though I doubt you’d remember.”

Amberstar said nothing, and Brightpaw was very confused. What history did Amberstar and Frondbreeze have? He couldn’t even remember anyone mentioning them in the same sentence.

“You must listen to me, as my  _ leader _ ,” Frondbreeze continued. “I am going to kit  _ soon _ . It’s getting to the point where it’s uncomfortable to walk. I  _ must _ move to the nursing den so Greylight can make sure my kitting goes smoothly.”

“You ought to wait until—”

“Bentpaw and Greylight have  _ assured _ me that Shrewshine didn’t so much as set paw in the nursing den,  _ and _ they have scrubbed every inch of the main hollow. There isn’t a trace of whitecough in there anymore, and you can’t use it as an excuse forever!”

Brightpaw wondered how he hadn’t noticed Frondbreeze was pregnant, but then he realized that she hadn’t been able to so much as leave camp with Firkit to look after. She was usually just a grey-furred lump in the clearing or den. Brightpaw was suddenly struck with pity for Frondbreeze; when was the last time she’d been out hunting, or even just on a stroll through the territory?

“Just bring Firkit into the nursing den with you,” Amberstar said dismissively.

“Amberstar! You’re being absolutely ridiculous! How could you stunt your own daughter’s growth as a warrior while you’re letting that walking target prance around the woods like living fox bait, playing games!”

Brightpaw flinched—she was talking about him!

“Oxstep was very adamant—”

“ _ Oxstep _ is not the leader of PineClan! You’d let that orange-pelted nuisance go around breaking rules as a sham apprentice before apprenticing your own kit? He’s only two moons older than her, and yet she’s still sitting in camp, wasting away! How is she to learn our ways without becoming an apprentice? I can’t believe…”

Brightpaw felt his stomach drop. The knowledge that Firkit was Amberstar’s daughter was certainly shocking, but not as shocking as how Frondbreeze was talking about him. He’d thought Frondbreeze was a bit fond of him. Had he been wrong this whole time?

He couldn’t listen anymore. Brightpaw snuck a few tail lengths away before settling down and staring at his hideous orange paws.

He couldn’t believe that Frondbreeze would speak so poorly of him. She’d never been so openly hostile around him before! She’d even cheered his new name at his apprentice ceremony! Had that all been an act? Did she secretly hate him just as much as Amberstar did? If so, how could he trust that cats like Greylight and Foxfur truly liked him? Were they only acting, too?

“They’re talking about us in there, huh?”

Brightpaw started and looked up to see Firkit staring at him with those big yellow eyes of hers. She gestured to the den and repeated herself when Brightpaw didn’t answer.

“Y-yeah. How’d you know?”

“You’re not the only one that likes to eavesdrop,” she purred in amusement.

“I-I was just curious! I don’t do it often!” He didn’t want to give Firkit more reasons to bully him, but she didn’t seem upset at his spying in the slightest. Brightpaw wondered if Firkit had already known Amberstar was her father, but decided that even if she did, it would still be a sore subject. He knew that he wouldn’t personally like being Amberstar’s kit.

“They talk about me a lot,” she continued, as if she hadn’t heard Brightpaw. “Mostly just my Mom complaining about having to look after me.”

“W-well, you are pretty old to still be called a kit….”

“Well, yeah!” Firkit snapped and Brightpaw scooted away, afraid of being struck. However, she instantly relaxed and became sullen. “Sorry. Not trying to scare you. And, yeah, but…it’s still not nice knowing your mother wants to be rid of you that badly.”

Brightpaw couldn’t really see the problem—Frondbreeze just wanted Firkit to be apprenticed, instead of being stuck with her  _ and _ more kits to look after—but he didn’t say so.

“I thought you didn’t like your mother?”

“What? Of course I do! She’s my mother!”

“S-sorry! I just…you always seem upset with her, like, almost all the time?”

“Yeah, I am, but she’s still my mother. They’re supposed to be annoying. I guess you wouldn’t really know that, but it’s just how they are.”

Brightpaw winced at that, but Firkit continued on, evidently not meaning to hurt his feelings by bringing up Dewfreeze.

“I want to be an apprentice, too! I don’t like being such an old kit. But Amberstar won’t let me be an apprentice until I ‘show him I’m ready,’ and I can’t do that while I’m stuck in camp! It’s so frustrating!”

As she spoke, Firkit stood up and started pacing around Brightpaw, tabby fur bristling in anger. He felt bad for her—how did Amberstar expect a kit to prove herself strong enough for an apprenticeship? She didn’t know how to hunt or fight yet, because that was what apprenticing ought to teach her. How could a kit prove herself worthy to someone like Amberstar?

“I just don’t see how  _ you _ are allowed to have a mentor and I can’t!” Firkit said, sneering at Brightpaw. He felt a little pang in his chest at that, but he knew that the insult was partially born out of frustration, which was better than usual. “What did you accomplish? You snuck out for a walk and then you had your Dad vouch for you!”

“I don’t…I didn’t want  _ this _ ,” Brightpaw confessed, the words falling out of his mouth, surprising the both of them. “I never  _ asked _ to be an apprentice. I just thought you were supposed to be one. I thought it was going to be just like my father and I hunting and playing together. If Bentpaw hadn’t been born earlier, I would’ve much preferred being a medicine cat, where I could at least be useful to the Clan. I wasn’t lying when I said that to him.”

Firkit balked, picking him apart with her gaze from his ears to his tail tip.

“I don’t get it. Medicine is for cats who can’t fight, isn’t it? For broken cats? Why wouldn’t you want to fight and hunt? You’re still able to, it’s just more dangerous sometimes, right?”

“Greylight and Bentpaw aren’t  _ broken _ ! And I mean…even if I  _ wasn’t _ a walking target, I would like medicine, I think. I just like knowing that someone feels better because of something I did. I want to make cats feel better. That’s all I want, and I’ll never have it, because some dead cats in StarClan said I can’t.”

Firkit flinched at his small moment of blasphemy, and the two cats sat in silence for a bit. Brightpaw didn’t expect her to answer; he knew that she wouldn’t understand how horrible and useless he felt every day. But it was nice to tell someone—he assumed everyone, including his father, had forgotten his comments about preferring the life of a medicine cat.

“I wish I didn’t look like my father,” Firkit finally said.

Brightpaw winced;  _ alright _ , he conceded,  _ maybe she _ can _ understand how ugly I feel _ .

He gave her a sideways glance and realized that she  _ did _ look nearly exactly like Amberstar; the same burly form, the same brown tabby markings and tufted ears. The only things different (aside from, of course, the tail) were the extra stripes around her eyes and the lack of a cream underbelly. How had he never noticed? Had he really never seen them side-by-side before?

“I wish we could trade pelts,” he said. “I don’t wanna look like Amberstar, either, but maybe he’d hate me a little less if I looked like his reflection.”

Firkit snorted and shoved Brightpaw’s shoulder, belting out the loudest laugh he’d ever heard. It drew the attention of all the cats lingering in the clearing for a moment, before they returned to their activities.

“He  _ so _ would!” she giggled. “He worships himself enough.”

Frondbreeze yelled across the clearing for Firkit then, sticking her head out of the den. The tabby kit sighed and stood.

“Well, Brightpaw, it was less boring talking to you than usual.”

“Uh, thanks?” Brightpaw tipped his head at her as she turned away. He thought that was the end of it and stood to go find his father, but then she called for him over her shoulder.

“By the way,” she said, “I think you shouldn’t give up. You’d make a good medicine cat.”

Brightpaw balked. He had no idea how to respond to the highest praise he’d ever been given in his life. Instead, he just watched Firkit strut away to the den, his heart full.

As Brightpaw watched her leave, he caught the eye of Shrewshine, who was still watching the apprentice from his usual spot. As they stared at each other, he wondered if Shrewshine even remembered the things he’d said while he was sick. Then the consul’s expression shifted, and for the first time in a very long time Brightpaw could figure out the look Shrewshine was giving him. He furrowed his brow, confused by the older cat’s expression.

It was pity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still getting into the loop of writing again, so I'm sorry for the lateness on this chapter! I think I'm going to move updates to every other Wednesday so I can make sure they're at the quality I want them to be? I'm thankful for your patience, everyone!
> 
> You can find me on Twitter as @FionaBuny and on Tumblr as @Bloodinthetundra for art and updates, or even just to chat!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tragedy.

###  Part One, Chapter Ten 

The day began unremarkably, with the endless daylight that characterized No-Moon and a grumpy throng of cats waking up for patrols.

Brightpaw woke up earlier than his father, as usual. He tottered out of the den and sat basking in the sunlight. Warriors and elders trickled into the clearing, either settling down or meeting up for their morning duties. He watched them move like ripples in a stream and worried.

As he watched the clearing, Mossytail and Rabbitfoot returned from an early morning outing. They were clumsily pulling a brown lump through the tunnel into camp, and Brightpaw stared dumbly at the sight. It was a full-grown rabbit! Mossytail and the current camp guard, Yarrowbloom, chattered proudly about the catch. Brightpaw had only ever caught shrews…. His fur prickled with a wave of embarrassment and envy.

He wondered for a moment whether any of them would consider joining him and his father on their hunt, if they’d show him how they’d caught the creature, but he knew it wouldn’t happen. Oxstep had long since accepted that their patrols would be father and son trips—no cat was dumb enough to go hunting with a loud, clumsy orange beacon for all predators to see.

Mossytail and Rabbitfoot settled across the clearing to eat, and Mossytail excitedly chattered at a nodding Rabbitfoot who did not chime in. Brightpaw watched curiously as the silent tabby tore at the rabbit, then awkwardly chewed with her head stuck out in the air, swallowing the freshkill not unlike a baby bird. It was only when she opened her mouth to take a second bite that he realized the she-cat had no tongue.

Brightpaw stared at her, shocked, until she noticed and scowled at him in disgust. How had he not known about such a thing? How had no one ever told him? Had his Clan shut him out that much, to the point that he barely knew anything about his clanmates?

Feeling more lonely than ever, Brightpaw fully realized for the first time that he was living in a camp full of strangers.

“Brightpaw! Are you ready to go, son?”

Oxstep pranced out of the den, already purring at the sight of his son. The sight of him lifted Brightpaw’s sunken spirits just enough to let him stand and greet his father. At least there was one cat in the camp who he truly knew and loved.

Oxstep and Brightpaw both spotted the hare at the same time. Nibbling at the grasses near a fresh pile of snow, it was young and fat, trapped between them and the small hill—the perfect catch. Oxstep signalled for Brightpaw to circle left to the other side of the snow bank, giving the hare a wide berth. Then his father moved to creep slowly through the scraggly brush, keeping low to best camouflage his deep brown fur.

Brightpaw snuck around the hare, claws unsheathed, watching it breathlessly to make sure it didn’t spot him. The grasses here were taller than usual, so they disguised his bright fur well. He sidled up to the snow bank and lay in wait, his father slowly inching forward to drive the hare right into his son’s claws.

Then, Oxstep leapt forward with claws outstretched, frightening it into a sprint. However, it instead leapt over the snow bank and tore away into the tundra—away from Brightpaw!

Brightpaw hissed angrily and ran after the hare, paws pounding the packed earth and claws snagging the grasses. He was just as good as Rabbitfoot. He was just as good as anyone. He  _ needed _ this catch.

The hare darted around a patch of shrubs, and Brightpaw saw his chance. He leapt clean over the shrubs and landed right on its tail, swiping furiously at its hind legs until it limped once—long enough for Brightpaw to bowl it over.

Almost as big as him, the hare struggled valiantly for its freedom, but Brightpaw managed to roll and hook his claws into its back, pinning its strong, flailing back legs. He delivered a swift killing bite to the nape of the hare’s neck, and his prey went limp.

“Son! That was…incredible!” Oxstep was running right behind, the weasel they’d also managed to catch dangling from his panting mouth. “You were almost as fast as that hare! That jump was amazing!”

“Oh, gosh, well, I mean, thanks, Dad! It wasn’t much….” Brightpaw looked down at his front paws and scuffed the earth. He hoped maybe this giant catch would be enough to show he was a useful hunter….

“It was incredible! I’m so proud, Brightpaw.” Oxstep beamed at him as they traded freshkill. The hare was much too large for Brightpaw to carry the whole way, and even his giant of a father had to hold his head high to carry it above his front paws. The pair of cats padded further into the tundra, sniffing around for more prey to add to their pile.

The lull in activity was the opening Brightpaw was looking for, and a wave of anxiety swept through him like the wind whipping at the grass around him. He opened and shut his mouth several times, mounting the courage to ask his question.

“Dad…am I ever going to be a warrior?” Brightpaw stood still and waited.

“Well, of course you are!” Oxstep asked, unfazed, still moving forward. “I know it’s felt like ages, but I’m sure your first assessment is just around the corner! In fact, we ought to get in more sparring practice, just in case—”

“No, Dad, I mean…be honest, d-do you think Amberstar will ever willingly give me my warrior name? Be honest.”

Oxstep’s ears pricked when he heard his son stutter. Brightpaw cursed his nervous tell; no matter how hard he tried to hide it, it always leaked through.

“What do you mean?” Oxstep asked, ears drawn back. He paused and turned away from his son, hiding his face. “Of course he’ll make you a warrior. You’ll have earned it—”

“I’m nearly  _ eighteen  _ moons old, Dad. If Amberstar wasn’t our leader, I’d be a warrior. Why haven’t I been evaluated at all? Why hasn’t he asked about my progress?”

“I’m…I’m sure he just wants you to master everyday routines first, Brightpaw. Those are of utmost importance.”

“And I haven’t mastered them yet? Will I ever master  _ anything _ to the Clan’s liking at this rate?”

“Son—”

“No! Listen to me, Dad, please!” A dam had broken somewhere inside Brightpaw. Private thoughts and fears flooded the tundra as he spoke. “What have we been doing? I’ve been thinking about this for a bit. All we do are the same lessons, the same hunts, the same patrols constantly. What is it all for? What new things am I learning by doing the same things in a loop?”

Brightpaw waited for his father’s response, expecting him to soothe his worries like he always did. There had to be some sort of explanation, right? But all that his father gave him was silence. Confused, Brightpaw padded around his father’s still body to look him in the eyes. All he saw in them was shame.

He thought of what Frondbreeze had called him.  _ A sham apprentice _ .

“Amberstar is never going to make me a warrior, is he? No one in the Clan approves of this but you, Daisysky, and Greylight. We’ve been doing this for nothing.”

“Brightpaw, how could you say that? You’re still an apprentice, you’ll still be a warrior! None of what you’ve learned is fake! You can still hunt and sneak and—”

“But no one will care. I’m not ever going into battle. I’m not an apprentice, and I won’t be a warrior! I’m still just as useless as before! I knew I should’ve given up!”

“Give up? Whose son are you? I would never give up on you, Brightpaw! Not even if it took me nine lives to get you a Warrior name! The Clan is mousebrained to treat you so poorly. You’ve got the makings of a great Warrior!”

“You have to be honest, Dad. I’m passable at hunting and awful at fighting. Even if I had all the lives of StarClan, Amberstar would still hate me! You have to know that, don’t you? What did you think was going to happen?” Brightpaw asked, desperate for answers.

“I-I didn’t have a plan,” Oxstep admitted, “other than teaching you all I could, making sure you were an asset. You’ve been doing so well, proving yourself so well! And we wanted to keep you motivated and out of the camp as long as possible. We were hoping that Amberstar would…um, that he wouldn’t… _ be around _ for much longer.”

Brightpaw’s whirling thoughts stilled at that. He couldn’t figure out what part of his father’s confusing explanation to focus on first. What was going on in his Clan?

“Who is…who is  _ ‘we’ _ ?” he finally asked.

His father never got to answer. Just as the words left Brightpaw’s mouth, a shadow \fell over them, before just as quickly circling away. Both cats fell silent and slowly looked up. A giant hawk was flying above them, and as the two cats watched, the bird dropped in closer. It wasn’t just big, it was  _ massive _ —big enough to easily carry a cat, Brightpaw realized, the fur along his spine standing on end.

Brightpaw also realized he’d been yelling loudly in an open field for who knew how long.

“ _ Run! _ ” Oxstep called, and both cats sprinted towards the woods, though it felt days away. Brightpaw frantically looked for any cover at all, but the colors of the tundra blended together in his panic.

He heard the hawk give a cry as it dropped even closer to the ground, and he could make out its sleek feathers, stained talons, and chipped beak behind him. He ran faster, certain it was targeting his bright pelt. However, he heard his father grunt in shock and the shadow fell away. Oxstep had tripped on the hare in his mouth and fallen behind. For some reason, the apprentice realized, the hawk was chasing  _ him and the hare _ , not Brightpaw!

“No! Dad!” Brightpaw skidded into a sharp turn and sprinted to his father’s side, tackling him away from a low swoop of the hawk’s talons. Brightpaw felt one talon catch the base of his tail where it connected to his back and yelped in pain, though his fear quickly swallowed the feeling.

“Brightpaw! I told you to run!” Oxstep shrieked, pinned underneath his son.

“I wanted to—”

“Forget about me!  _ Get out of here! _ ”

No sooner had Oxstep spoken than the hawk dipped and struck again, blinding fast. It grabbed up Brightpaw by the hindquarters, clawing and pecking at his backside briefly before Brightpaw managed to twist sideways, falling a short way to the ground. Oxstep ran to his son’s side, then shoved him towards the woods, shouting words that Brightpaw was too terrified to hear.

Then the hawk struck again, and this time Brightpaw could clearly hear his father’s yowls and screams as the bird’s talons dug into his side and stomach. Brightpaw didn’t even think, he just leapt up and dug his claws into his father’s fur, batting at the hawk’s feet to loosen its grip. The bird squawked and dipped close to the ground, trying to get a hold of its squirming prey. Finally, frustrated and scared out of his wits, Brightpaw reached up to strike the bird in its eyes. It made an angry gurgling noise and the two cats fell to the ground, the bird wheeling up and away while shaking blood from its head.

Brightpaw and Oxstep sank into a heap of snow, and Brightpaw numbly thanked StarClan for cushioning their fall. His thanks didn’t last long, though, as he watched the snow soak red with blood. He struggled over to his father’s side, and felt sick at what he saw. Oxstep was torn and bleeding, his fur almost shredded, and Brightpaw couldn’t bring himself to look at his body for long. Oxstep coughed and turned to look at his son, his breath labored.

“Dad! Dad, come on, get up! We have to get back to camp!” Brightpaw shoved at his father’s shoulder, but all the movement did was stain his paws a deep, horrific red.

“Brightpaw…leave me,” his father said, his voice small and ragged.

“No! No, I can’t, you have to come with me!” Brightpaw wailed, leaning down to shove at his father with his shoulder. “Get up, get up!”

“No medicine cat can fix this,” Oxstep said, “not with all the herbs in all the Clans. Please, Brightpaw. You’re very, very important, son. Ask Shrewshine, he—”

“Not more important than you! Please, please, I can’t lose you!” Brightpaw couldn’t fathom living without his father. Even a peaceful death would’ve been too much to bear—Oxstep couldn’t die like this!

They both tensed as the hawk’s shadow flashed over them again. Brightpaw backed away from his father, his paws now sticky with blood.

“For me, Brightpaw,” Oxstep said, closing his eyes. “Run and survive for me. Live on for me, if not yourself.”

“I-I love you, Dad! I-I’ll get help, I promise!”

“Goodbye son. I love you, too.”

Gasping for air and gagging, Brightpaw turned and ran. He kept looking back, despite every glance over his shoulder being worse than the last. His hind legs burned and he was almost blind with fear and sorrow, but he ran anyway, fulfilling his father’s dying wish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Doing updates every other week is really helping with my motivation, so I think I'll be sticking with this schedule! I'm very happy that I've gotten to ten chapters, thank you all so so much for reading! My apologies that this particular chapter is my "gift" to you all.
> 
> You can find me on Twitter as @FionaBuny and on Tumblr as @Bloodinthetundra for art and updates, or even just to chat!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brightpaw faces grief and consequences.

###  Part One, Chapter Eleven 

“Help! Help! Please, anyone, help!” Brightpaw screamed, running through the forest. He regretted going so deep into the tundra—it had taken him ages to get home.

“What have you got for—?” Burrfang began, but Brightpaw was so distraught that he shouldered the guard aside, stumbling blindly into the clearing. Most cats were home for a midday break, and they all stopped what they were doing and stared in shock. A few shrieked in horror, and they all backed away from Brightpaw as he collapsed, heaving, in the clearing.

“Help! Please! Oxstep is in trouble!” 

“What happened?” Daisysky was the first to approach him, with Foxfur on her heels. “Where is your father, Brightpaw?”

“A-a hawk! We went—we were hunting in the tundra…. It was so— It was— It attacked us….” Brightpaw felt dizzy with grief already, but the memory of his father being snapped up like so much freshkill was too horrific to bear. He turned from Daisysky, tottered a few steps away, and got sick in the middle of the clearing.

“Oh, StarClan!” Daisysky screamed. She hunched her shoulders and stared at the ground in shock, pelt bristling. “StarClan, no!”

A dull ripple of shock flew through Brightpaw. What kind of deputy reacted to the death of a cat like that? The confusion was replaced by a wave of nausea before Brightpaw could think about it too much.

“Firkit!” Foxfur called, nodding to the tabby from halfway across the clearing. “Get Greylight! Brightpaw is very badly injured!”

The young tabby skittered to her paws and ran to the medicine hollow, yowling the whole way for help.

“H-he’s still alive!” Brightpaw said, stumbling to his paws again. “Forget about me! Greylight should go save him!”

“Brightpaw, I’m so sorry….” Foxfur said, sitting and curling her tail around his bloody body. “A hawk isn’t going to give up on a vulnerable cat. I’m sorry to say this, but your father—”

“No! He can’t be!” Brightpaw said, just as Foxfur shrieked wordlessly in grief.

Bentpaw, Firkit, and Greylight exited the medicine cat hollow with their mouths full. Firkit was carrying a stick struck through the biggest wad of cobwebs Brightpaw had ever seen, Bentpaw was carrying a large stick dripping with resin, and Greylight had a mouthful of spruce needles and some beautiful white flowers—pepperplant, with leaves used for preventing infections, Brightpaw recalled through a haze.

“I couldn’t imagine he’d want to move an inch in this state,” Greylight explained, crouching at Brightpaw’s side and staunching the blood flow from his hind end with pawfuls of cobwebs. “I’m so, so sorry, Brightpaw.”

“You have to go help him….” Brightpaw muttered, feeling woozy. “You have to…. He’s still alive….”

Foxfur had turned to Daisysky’s side and was muttering encouraging words, even as Daisysky repeated “no, no, no” under her breath.

“Bentpaw,” Greylight whispered to his apprentice, who was avoiding looking at Brightpaw, “go take Daisysky to the hollow. Let Foxfur come with, keep her talking. Give her some soft spruce needles to chew on, and then twinflower if she doesn’t respond. She won’t help anyone by sitting there and wailing.”

Bentpaw seemed glad to be shooed away from the grisly scene, or maybe just glad to be away from Brightpaw as he suffered. Brightpaw was too distraught to think much about Bentpaw’s possible motives. He slumped to the ground, exhausted.

“Brightpaw, please, eat these,” Greylight said gently, pushing some twinflower towards his muzzle. Brightpaw licked up the little flowers obediently, not wanting to upset any more cats.

“I feel really sick….” he said. The image of his father laying in the snow flashed through his mind, and he gagged hard.

“It’s okay, Brightpaw, you’ll be fine.” Greylight switched out the cobwebs he was using to staunch Brightpaw’s bleeding wounds. “These will scar, and it may hurt to walk for a while, but you’ll be fine, I promise.”

“Dad…. He’s hurt….”

“Everyone, I need someone to share pelts with Brightpaw!” Greylight said to the cats in the camp. “He needs to keep warm and calm, and he needs someone to hold the cobwebs in place.”

The entire camp, which had been muttering to itself, fell silent. Brightpaw’s head swam as he lifted it to look at many, many pairs of guilty and hostile eyes.

“Anyone! Come on!” Greylight swung his head around to look at every cat, incredulous. “No one? Are you all foxhearted?!”

“Please,” Brightpaw croaked, desperate for any sign that his Clan still stood with him, even after such a tragedy. A couple cats—Burrfang, Halfear, Rabbitfoot—were actually staring at him with rage in their eyes, as if upset he’d survived. Others, like Yarrowbloom and Sapfur, guiltily avoided looking at his battered body. Dewfreeze was staring at him in disbelief, fur fluffed and eyes wide.

And Brightpaw realized that without Oxstep, he was truly and utterly alone in PineClan. He’d bet his left paw that not even Foxfur and Daisysky would care about him without his father’s prestige behind him. He was worse than a sham apprentice now. He had no position at all. He was nothing.

“What’s going on here?” Amberstar’s voice called from the entrance to the camp. He was returning with Mossytail and a bedraggled Nightpatch from a patrol. Halfear ran to his leader’s side and muttered the details of the tragedy in his ear. From across the clearing, Brightpaw could see Amberstar’s face shift from horror to triumph.

“Can you get up, Brightpaw?” Greylight asked. “The bleeding is stopping, and I’ve dressed your wounds with resin and cobwebs for now.”

Brightpaw stood, rocking uneasily on his paws. His movement was very restricted with his lower half covered in sticky cobwebs, but otherwise the pain of his cuts and his mind had been dulled by the twinflower. Every thought he had felt like it was swimming through sap to the surface of his brain.

“Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey join beneath the den for a Clan meeting!” Amberstar called, leaping atop the den.

“Alright, we should get you into the hollow now.” Greylight moved to let Brightpaw lean on his side. “You’ll be okay, I promise.”

“Greylight! Where are you going with him?” Amberstar yowled. “I’ve called a Clan meeting!”

“He needs rest, Amberstar!” Greylight said, staring up at his leader in disbelief. “He’s just survived a hawk attack!”

“I’m well aware! That’s what this Clan meeting is about.”

“He can sit vigil for his father later, when he comes out of his shock.”

“I am not calling this meeting to sit vigil. Leave him where he stands, Greylight.”

Greylight bristled angrily, but Amberstar’s glare silenced him before he could continue protesting. He backed away and sat down among the other PineClan cats, though he kept his eyes on Brightpaw.

“So, Brightpaw, what do you have to say for yourself?” Amberstar lay down on top of the den and crossed his front legs—a move so unconventional that the four elders gasped. Sitting during a Clan meeting was incredibly lax and disrespectful.

“Huh? What…?” Brightpaw swayed as he stepped forward, his thoughts slow. The numbing of the twinflower made his tongue heavy in his mouth. “What about me?”

“Oh, Brightpaw, I think you know, you coward. I can hardly believe a cat so inferior has been born into PineClan! I should’ve kicked you to the snow drifts the day you were born.”

Half of the gathered cats seemed to stiffen, and all heads swiveled to Amberstar. Brightpaw’s legs buckled and he flopped to the ground. The unchecked hatred of his own leader after such a terrifying, overwhelming loss was too much to bear.

“You let a hawk carry away your own father,” Amberstar said, his voice dripping with cruelty. “What kind of Warrior are you?”

“I tried to help,” Brightpaw said weakly, feeling a small flame of rare anger well inside his shattered heart. “I did, I mean, I pushed him out of the way…I tried…I jumped at it….”

“And what did that accomplish? All you did was prolong his suffering. If you hadn’t been out there, standing out like blood in the snow, the hawk would never have seen Oxstep in the first place.”

Brightpaw wanted to object, to say that the hawk was chasing his father because of the prey in his mouth slowing him down, but he was too exhausted to defend himself. And besides, maybe Amberstar was right…. Maybe he’d read the hawk’s behavior wrong. Maybe it  _ had _ been his fault? He’d been the one arguing and standing around, after all.

“I think it’s very clear that you have no future in PineClan, Brightpaw,” Amberstar purred, looking very pleased. “From the day you were born, I knew this. Not even just as a Warrior—there is no position in PineClan that would be a good fit for you, even  _ camp guard _ . You were simply born unfit for Clan life.”

Brightpaw looked around camp, unsure what to believe. A few cats, like Yarrowbloom, Mossytail, and Greylight, looked positively horrified, while Nightpatch and Halfear were watching with savage delight. Nobody was coming to his defense. The sham apprentice looked down at his blood-stained paws and awaited his punishment so he could go hide in the medicine hollow.

“I think we all know what’s appropriate here. Brightpaw…. For your crimes against PineClan, I find you unfit for the role of apprentice, as defined by the law of StarClan! You are hereby  _ exiled _ from PineClan.”

Brightpaw felt, under a sea of herb-induced calm, a surge of horror and panic. Exiled?  _ Exiled _ ? What was he going to do? He turned and retched again, but Amberstar just continued the ceremony.

“You have until moonrise to make your way to the Wasteland, where you will live out the rest of your days in exile. After moonrise, you will be trespassing on our territory, and warriors will be allowed to deal with you as they see fit. You will never be welcomed back into PineClan.”

Brightpaw vomited again, then stumbled backwards, swinging his head around to look for someone, anyone that could help him.  _ StarClan, where are you now?  _ he thought, terrified.  _ Why is this happening to me? _

At some point Greylight had retreated to the medicine hollow, and now he and Daisysky both popped their heads out to listen. He was whispering fervently in her ear, and she was looking around the clearing, teeth grit and ears flattened. Frondbreeze poked her head out of the den, groggy and confused. Otherwise, no other cat so much as twitched a whisker.

Brightpaw took a few steps backwards, locking eyes with Amberstar the whole way. He looked smug, as if he’d just caught a fat piece of freshkill all for himself. Vaguely he realized Halfear was hissing and cursing at him, but he was too shocked to comprehend it.

He did the only thing he could do: he turned and ran out of camp.

The former sham apprentice ran through the woods he used to call home, the last places where he’d known peace flashing around him. Vaguely he felt the bracken snagging and pulling away the dressing on his wounds, but couldn’t bring himself to care. He eventually found himself on the edge of the tundra inside PineClan territory and paused, the horrible memories of being chased with nowhere to hide still fresh in his mind. He turned left and ran along the treeline for a long time, in a wide circle around the field.

At some point he noticed great hills rising out of the tundra to his right and smelled a scent so foul that it cut through his miasma— _ wolf _ . Those were Pack Hills, and Brightpaw wasn’t too keen on meeting his end in the teeth of a wolf, despite how little he wanted to be alive without his father. He curved back into the woods until he could smell the lake on the cool breeze and ran parallel to that instead.

The days of No-Moon were certainly long, but this one felt neverending—Brightpaw begged StarClan to send down the night so he could hide from the world in sleep. The sun was only just sinking in the orange sky when he realized he’d passed PineClan’s furthest border marker long ago. He was now surrounded by the wild, foreign scents of a Clanless forest for the first time in his life.

As night finally fell, he came across a wide stretch of river; in fact, he almost ran right into it, blind and thoughtless as he was. It drained from the lake, and to his right he could see a much smaller lake pooling in the deeper tundra. Looking out past the river, straight ahead, Brightpaw could see almost nothing. It was a vast, nearly featureless tundra, with only a rare clump of diminutive trees helping him gauge the distance. There were craggy peaks on the horizon, so far away that they were only just visible. He could smell no cats, and heard no prey. Everything was a dull green or a dusty brown, nothing like the vibrant, lively woods he’d known.

This was the Wasteland, where unwanted cats were sent. He knew little about it other than that it was bleak, preyless, and had little cover, with so few cats here that he may never see another living soul again.

Brightpaw hadn’t been exiled—he’d been sentenced to death in isolation, and no one would ever hear from him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly late to the game, but not TOO late, I hope! This is the end of Part One of this fic, but we're gonna be rolling into Part Two without a hitch, so don't worry about delays! Thank you all for reading!
> 
> You can find me on Twitter as @FionaBuny and on Tumblr as @Bloodinthetundra for art and updates, or even just to chat!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brightpaw makes a friend.

###  Part Two, Chapter Twelve 

Brightpaw woke himself up by sneezing so hard he hit his head on the ceiling. He hissed in pain, but got up anyways, clawing and shimmying his way out into the light. A still cat was a dead cat out here.

He ducked his head as he left his makeshift den. It wasn’t much, just a flat rock jutting out of the ground at an odd angle, leaving barely enough room for Brightpaw to wedge his body underneath. He hadn’t been able to find moss to use as bedding, and the grasses around him were reedy and sharp, too brittle to sleep on. The den had no warmth or cover, and very little protection from the snow, but it was better than being completely out in the open.

At this point, he couldn’t even tell what season it was. The days blended together so that sometimes, if he woke up and it was still bright out, he couldn’t tell if he’d just taken a nap or slept a whole day away. The hunger in his belly was no clue—prey here was so scarce that the twinge in his stomach was ever-present. If he had to guess from the shortening days and the growing cold, it was nearing the end of No-Moon. He’d been out here three or so moons, in that case, though he wasn’t sure.

He stretched his hind legs hard, satisfied by how good it felt to be out of his cramped den. His wounds from that horrible day had healed, but the fur hadn’t grown back, of course. His hind end was almost bare, criss-crossed with slices of shriveled, scarred skin. It was going to be a real problem in No-Sun, when the snows came and warmth was essential. He honestly didn’t much care whether he got frostbite, though. He just tried not to think about the scars at all.

Brightpaw stood fully and took to his daily habit: pacing along the bank of the river to keep his blood flowing. It was the only way to stay warm out here, without anyone to share pelts with. The hard, frigid ground chapped and cracked his paw pads, but there was a small growth of yarrow nearby that he often visited to heal them, so he’d become numb to it.  _ I ought to store some of that for No-Sun _ , he thought.

His den was on the opposite side of the river; across the water, he could see Pack Hills and the brown-and-white expanse of PineClan’s section of the tundra. Off in the far distance, he could even make out the smudge of green that was their woods. Sometimes, as he paced, he would keep looking up across the bank, hoping to see one of his former clanmates and finally talk to someone again. Once he actually saw Rabbitfoot chasing something, but she’d been too far away and focused on her kill to notice. He didn’t know much about Rabbitfoot, aside from her lack of a tongue and voice, but at that point he’d be willing to talk to  _ Amberstar _ for company.

At first he tried to look for a better den deeper in the Wasteland, but he couldn’t manage to find one any more comfortable than his horrible rock. Plus, being without cover under the Wasteland’s hawk-infested sky was a horrible reminder of what had brought him here. He’d only explored a radius of a few fox lengths up and down the bank before returning to the safety of his rock.

His stomach howled angrily at him. He hadn’t eaten for two days, since he’d finally finished the shrew he’d been rationing. Brightpaw had been surviving on mostly plants for a while now, and his body wasn’t too keen on it. Birch leaves and bear-berries could only soothe hunger pangs; they couldn’t fill his stomach. He was a cat, for StarClan’s sake, not a deer!

Brightpaw stumbled on his feet and stopped to catch his breath. He realized he’d been trotting very fast—too fast for his weak state. He sat down and watched the water as it rolled past, on its journey to the smaller lake within the Wasteland. He’d seen it on his way around the river to the other bank; it was shallow with a few small islands, not nearly as impressive as the main lake and the Gathering Isle.

His stomach clenched looking at the river, and he was acutely aware of the fish hiding away in its icy depths. If only he’d been a FrostClan cat; then he could’ve learned how they fish without freezing their paws off!

Feeling the breeze pick up, Brightpaw got to his feet and turned to head back “home.” However, a rustling in the brush caught his ear. He froze and turned ever so slightly to see a vole scrabbling in the dirt, sniffing around. It was well-fed, healthy, and oblivious to him—it looked absolutely  _ delicious _ . So much water filled Brightpaw’s mouth that it almost dripped onto the ground.

Before he’d even decided to do so, Brightpaw slid into a hunter’s crouch. His claws were already unsheathed, and his jaws were parted so wide that he almost unhinged them. He wasn’t going to ration this one. It was going down in one bite.

Rushed by hunger, Brightpaw pounced far too early and landed on the packed earth just in front of the vole, which instantly wheeled around and slipped through the grasses. Brightpaw yowled wordlessly and gave chase—he would  _ not _ lose this meal!

His joints creaked from disuse, but Brightpaw wouldn’t give up. His prey quickly left the territory he’d explored, running up the riverbank towards the small lake, but there was no going back now. Brightpaw would chase this vole all the way to StarClan if he had to! He could sense a mountainous peak growing closer in front of them, but most of his attention was on his prey.

With a surge of energy he hadn’t felt in moons, Brightpaw shrieked and launched at the vole with all his strength, tumbling head-over-tail for at least a fox length before finally clamping his jaws through its torso. A sloppy kill, but he wasn’t concerned with form right now. All the sudden energy left him the instant his kill stopped moving.

Brightpaw’s entire body sagged low to the ground as he made his way “home” with his catch of the day, walking along the riverbank. It was getting even harder to find prey as the frost encroached—every sensible creature had begun to seek cover. The vole in his mouth certainly wouldn’t put enough fat on his bones to keep him safe from the cold. He continued musing on his inevitable fate of freezing to death as he stopped to drink from the river.

As he turned to pick up his freshkill once again, he spotted a hole in the ground. It looked to be the den of a ground squirrel—water flooded his jaws, but it took only one whiff to know it was long abandoned. He drew closer and peered down into the den, his whiskers brushing the entrance. Nights were probably much warmer and drier in there than under his rock. Maybe—

Just as the thought passed through his head, a sudden hiss filled the air, and a black paw darted towards his eyes, silver claws glinting. Brightpaw scrambled backwards just in time, and he stammered in terror as more hissing wafted up from the den. Upon a second look, Brightpaw could see two yellow eyes in the darkness, hardened like golden pebbles and glowing with anger.

“I-I-I’m so sorry! I-I didn’t kn-know you were in there! I-I’m sorry!”

“I don’t need your apologies!” a voice called, thin and wavering, but still biting. “Leave me be, kit!”

“I-I know, I’m so sorry! I had no idea I had a neighbor.” Brightpaw’s voice cracked with disuse, and despite his fear, a thrill of joy flew through him. He hadn’t seen or heard another cat in so long! “I’m Brightpaw! I-I’m so—”

“I’m not your neighbor! I’m a fellow prisoner, if even that. Now leave me to my death in peace, kit!”

“Y-your death? Are you dying?” Brightpaw shuddered. He felt the ghost of his father’s tail twine around his own. “I-I can help, if you need—?”

“No! I don’t need or deserve your pity. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got suffering to do. Maybe once I finish starving to death, you can come and pick my bones clean.”

Brightpaw’s stomach lurched dangerously at the thought. What sort of cat starved herself in a hole? What could she have possibly done to deserve  _ that _ ? At the thought of her wasting away under the earth, Brightpaw made up his mind.

He drew his pathetic vole closer and bent down to gnaw it roughly in half. The taste washing over his tongue almost made him devour the kill whole, but he managed to restrain himself. Keeping one half for himself, he kicked the other half down into the hole.

The she-cat hissed angrily, scuffling around in surprise. “I said, leave me be! You’ve got no reason to throw things—”

“I-it’s freshkill,” Brightpaw interrupted. “Not much, but it’s something.”

“What part of starving to death don’t you understand, kit? Do you know what the word  _ starve _ means?”

“I-I mean, of course I do! I’m not that young.” Brightpaw’s fear was beginning to subside as he realized how weak the she-cat was. She hadn’t left the den once during their conversation, and Brightpaw suspected she might not be able to. “No cat deserves to starve, no matter what.”

“I  _ am _ no cat, then. Nothing but a coward and a murderer.”

“A murderer?” Brightpaw echoed, his tail fluffing to double its size. “You killed someone?”

“Not directly, but I might as well have torn his throat out myself, for all the good I did.”

“I understand what you mean.” Brightpaw felt the ghost of Oxstep’s tail tighten around his own. The blood of the shrew staining his lips felt thicker and heavier now. “I suppose I’m a bit of a murderer, too.”

“Didn’t you say you were an apprentice? You can’t have murdered someone. You’re hardly older than a kit.”

Brightpaw winced in embarrassment. “I’m pretty old for an apprentice, not that it matters anymore. But that’s neither here nor there. We’re both murderers by proxy, but I think our victims would’ve preferred us to live, right?”

“Why do you say that?” the she-cat asked, and Brightpaw was relieved to hear her mouth was full of food. No cat, no matter how determined, could resist the smell of good freshkill for long.

“I-I think my father would want me to do lots of good in the world to make up for the horrible things I’ve done.”

There was an uncomfortable pause as the she-cat swallowed. “You killed your father?”

Brightpaw nodded, then realized she likely couldn’t see him, and whispered the horrible word: “Hawk.”

The she-cat fell silent, though Brightpaw could hear her tearing away at her half of the shrew. It felt like an eternity before she piped up again.

“Thanks for the bird, kit.”

Brightpaw winced. How hungry did a cat have to be to mistake a shrew for a bird? He studied the hunk of prey between his paws before steeling his will and kicking it down the hole.

“Have the rest. I think you’ll need it.”

“Are you sure, kit?”

“Y-yeah, I-I caught two. I-it’s fine,” he lied.

The she-cat grumbled, but Brightpaw heard her take another wet bite and his heart rose. After what he’d done, the least he could do was help a cat in need.

“I can come back with more tomorrow?”

“Oh, don’t worry yourself. I don’t need a kit looking after me,” she laughed. “You’re right, though. I ought to stop feeling sorry for myself. The cats I’ve harmed wouldn’t want me taking the easy way out.”

Brightpaw wanted to object, but he decided against it.  _ If that’s the logic she needs to use to stay alive, then so be it,  _ he thought.

“Can I at least have your name?” he asked instead.

“I don’t deserve my name,” she said back. “You can call me whatever you’d like, Brightpaw. Dirt, Mud, Disgusting, Killer…”

“Friend?”

The she-cat groaned loudly, then barked a laugh. “If it makes you feel better!”

“Alright, then, Friend. I’ll come visit you sometime, okay?”

“If you want,” “Friend” said, trying very hard to sound disinterested.

Brightpaw stood and started his way home, feeling chipper despite his rumbling stomach. It looked like even murderers could find friends, if they looked in the right places.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's pretend I didn't forget my upload schedule for like a month.... ANYWAYS, in case you missed it, last update wasn't actually on this fic! I'm starting to write up some scenes from other characters' perspectives—my own little take on super editions! It's the work titled "Frondbreeze's Meeting" in this series. But now I'm gonna be getting back into this arc of the story, so enjoy the content to come!
> 
> You can find me on Twitter as @FionaBuny and on Tumblr as @Bloodinthetundra for art and updates, or even just to chat!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brightpaw does not make a friend.

###  Part Two, Chapter Thirteen 

Brightpaw padded back along the river in the fading daylight, mostly looking between his paws and the sky, which was thankfully empty. He didn’t know how to feel about his exile anymore, now that he knew he had a neighbor. Something about the exchange felt so out of place…. He’d been thinking of the Wasteland as completely devoid of life. How many other cats could be out there in the tundra, struggling to survive just as he did? Or were he and his Friend outliers, living in a bleak field full of old cat bones? He shuddered at the thought of finding remains of other exiles. Nobody would be burying them out here.

One thing was certain, though: he was glad to have inspired Friend to continue living. He knew that she wouldn’t like being visited very often—she’d been incredibly adamant about that—but he was glad to know that he would at least die knowing the tundra here wasn’t  _ completely  _ isolated.

His stomach protested loudly as his uncomfortable rock-den came into view. He wondered how any cat could survive on the sparse prey out here, and how  _ he _ was going to survive. Certainly there were moments where he considered giving up, but what he’d said to Friend was still true—he knew his father would want him to do good in the world to offset his horrific actions.

Brightpaw’s stomach growled even louder, and for a moment he was bewildered, until the smell of freshkill finally permeated through the haze of his anxiety. His eyes darted around wildly, looking for the source. It was only then that a lean, dark shape stepped out from behind Brightpaw’s den.

The tom was sleek, his dense black fur speckled with bright red. His grey eyes held no emotion at all, save for maybe a bit of out-of-place amusement. Brightpaw had never seen a cat with a coat like that before, but then again, maybe he hadn’t seen very many cats at all. The tortoiseshell tom had a fat squirrel in his mouth, and seemed to have been waiting for Brightpaw with it for a long time.

Before Brightpaw could even decide what to do himself, the tom approached, his pawsteps making no sound at all. He placed the squirrel on the ground, and blithely said one word:

“Hungry?”

Brightpaw nodded and gratefully bent down towards the squirrel, taking the biggest bite that his mouth would allow. The black-and-red tom, however, didn’t sit down, and instead loomed over him as he ate, making the fur on the back of Brightpaw’s neck stand on end.

“So you’re new here,” the tom said as Brightpaw chewed. It wasn’t a question, but Brightpaw nodded anyway.

“Do you like sleeping under a rock?” he continued. Brightpaw shook his head and sat back on his haunches, uncomfortable with the prospect of eating while being looked down on.

“I’d imagine you’d like the chance to survive comfortably again, then,” the tom said, again as a statement rather than a question. “Stand up.”

The tom kicked at Brightpaw’s haunches with his front paws, and Brightpaw scurried to his feet, confused and intimidated.

“My name is Marrow, by the way,” the black-and-red tom said. He then proceeded to circle Brightpaw’s body several times, poking at him, parting his fur, even commanding Brightpaw to open his mouth so he could inspect his teeth.

“How fast can you run?” he asked.

“Uh, pretty fast, I guess? Wh-what’s happening?” Brightpaw stuttered, but he was met with a hiss from Marrow.

“Keep your damn mouth shut until I tell you to open it.” Marrow bent down and pushed on Brightpaw’s hind paws to see how his claws looked, a sensation that made Brightpaw very uncomfortable. “So what are the battle scars from?”

Brightpaw writhed uncomfortable as he felt cold paw pads examine his bare hind scars. He had already decided that he didn’t trust this strange tom.

“I would prefer not to talk about—”

“Did I  _ ask _ what you  _ preferred _ ?” Marrow growled, and Brightpaw yelped as he felt thick claws press threateningly into his flesh.

“I mean, no, I…. It was a hawk,” Brightpaw said, hoping to StarClan this stranger wouldn’t ask him for more details. No more cats needed to know about his murderous past!

Thankfully, though, Marrow stepped away from Brightpaw and gestured to the squirrel in front of him again.

“Still hungry?”

Brightpaw nodded and leaned forward, but Marrow pulled the squirrel behind his front paws in a swift motion, leaving Brightpaw crouched in front of him yet again.

“Listen, kit, I’ll level with you, because I like you,” Marrow said, crouching down to make eye contact. “The Wasteland is an empty place. The only cats you’re gonna meet are either too vicious or too stupid to help you. Me and my buddies, though, we know this place like the pads of our paws. We like to do something we call  _ charity  _ out here. You interested?”

“I-I don’t understand what you—” Brightpaw began, only to be cut off again.

“You get warmth, you get food, you get shelter and protection. We’re kind of like a Clan without the rules and the stringent mousebrains. A  _ better _ Clan, for the cats who the Clans abandoned. All you’d have to do is help us protect ourselves. Sound good?”

Brightpaw nearly jumped at the chance to be part of a Clan again. He would have given  _ anything _ in that moment to stop being alone and frightened. But his logic kicked in at just the right moment, and he realized that he was talking to a criminal. Well, technically they were  _ both _ criminals, but Brightpaw got the feeling that Marrow wasn’t  _ actually _ looking to do good here.

“What, uh…. What would ‘protecting ourselves’ entail, exactly?” Brightpaw asked meekly.

“You see, that kind of talk gets me worried, kit. It’s almost the same work as protecting a real Clan! Don’t you trust me? I’m doing you a favor here.”

Brightpaw couldn’t decide whether he trusted Marrow, or even whether he felt bad for turning down the offer. Was he really just trying to help? Why was he being so cagey, then? Even if he  _ was _ trying to help and offering a safe place to live…did Brightpaw even deserve it?

“I…I would really appreciate some details before I—”

Marrow lunged forward with a frustrated yowl, catching Brightpaw by surprise. He lunged out of the way to avoid much of the damage, but still felt the sharp pain of a claw catching in his shoulder. He backed far away from Marrow, crouching down in fear.

The furious tom grabbed the squirrel by its tail, bounded forward a bit, and threw the freshkill into the freezing river with all his might. Brightpaw screeched in grief, his stomach lurching as he watched the wasted food sink into the black water.

“Feed yourself then, kit! We’ll have a lot of fun watching the crows peck out your eyeballs next moon.”

“I-I’m sorry—”

“Shut your muzzle!” Marrow hissed, bounding towards the depths of the Wasteland. “Word to the wise, kit! You see that forest all the way across the tundra? Keep the hell out!”

“Wh-why?” Brightpaw tipped his head, frightened and confused by the change of topic.

“Because we practice battle tactics on intruders. Have fun starving!”

With that, Marrow disappeared into the tall, dry grasses of the tundra. It took a while before Brightpaw even had the strength to pull himself out of his defensive crouch. Numb, he pulled himself to his feet and silently padded over to his den, where he wedged himself uncomfortably underneath the rock and watched night fall around him. It was only when the first members of StarClan graced the sky that Brightpaw’s fear and loneliness finally fully hit him, and he didn’t stop crying and shaking until the last star faded away in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty short chapter this week, but still an important one! Thank you all for reading so much!
> 
> You can find me on Twitter as @FionaBuny and on Tumblr as @Bloodinthetundra for art and updates, or even just to chat!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brightpaw saves a life.

###  Part Two, Chapter Fourteen 

A few sunrises later, Brightpaw was pacing along the bank again, though in the opposite direction of Friend’s den. He had been frightened and confused in the intervening days, and had taken some time to mull over what had happened to him.

He had met with both kindness and cruelty on the same day, both from Wasteland exiles, and he had know way of knowing which cat was more typical of the Wasteland. Was this place truly the bleak landscape he had envisioned, run by gangs and bullies like Marrow? Or were the criminals here remorseful and suffering, like Friend? Or maybe both? Or more of one than the other? He’d wracked his brains trying to decide what to do in light of this information.

Brightpaw had a much more urgent worry, though; he hadn’t found any other freshkill in the days following these encounters. He would have thought that the river would draw lots of prey, but maybe the current was too fast, or the water too deep? Whatever the case, he couldn’t live like this for much longer (whether he wanted to live or not being a different question that he kept pushing aside). His hunger was driving him mad, and despite the anxiety he felt venturing away from his camp and its safety from the Wasteland’s hawks, he’d begun straying further and further in search of food.

Crouching among the shrubs at the foot of a lone tree, Brightpaw parted the branches of a bush and nibbled at the bear-berries there. He knew they were safe to eat (unless you were pregnant) but that they had little value for a grown cat’s stomach. Mostly they were used to kickstart hunger in a fussy kit, especially when switching from milk to freshkill. He was glad no one was around to see; he felt pathetic munching on berries for kits like a cat-sized shrew, even if they lined his belly for a bit. It was moments like these, realizing what he’d been reduced to for his horrible crimes, that Brightpaw wondered why StarClan hadn’t sent another hawk to finish him off.

As Brightpaw choked the berries down, he caught the scent of something sharp and warm mid-bite. It took him a moment to recognize the scent—he hadn’t smelled it in so long.

Blood.

Cat blood.

A familiar scent that sent him spiraling back to the last time he’d smelled it, pouring out of his own skin and the broken body of his father. The thought of his father bleeding out in the snow made him ache deep in his bones. He huddled under the tree’s branches, searching the sky for hawks.

The stench of blood grew heavier, and along with it came a new scent: the reek of fox. The disgusting smell snapped Brightpaw back to reality, and he nearly bolted away until he remembered what he’d told Friend. His father would want him to avenge his death by doing good in the world. No cat deserved to become prey like he had.

Bristling with fear and determination in equal parts, Brightpaw bolted into the tundra, following the smells until he heard the sounds of a scuffle. Over the loud chattering and growling of what he assumed was the fox, Brightpaw could hear not one, but  _ five _ cats. Could it have found a family? The thought of a fox swallowing a kit whole bolstered Brightpaw further, and he dove towards the clamor without hesitation.

Brightpaw took in the scene for a very brief moment: a cream-colored tabby tom stood over a small grey she-cat laying in a heap of blood, his eyes wild. Three other cats were trying to divert the creature’s attention, keeping it away from the bloody cat: a silver tabby she-cat, a blue-gray she-cat, and a very small but very furious white-and-grey cat. 

In the midst of them all was the very first fox Brightpaw had ever seen, and it was even worse than all the stories made them out to be. It looked like a cat and a wolf mixed together; pointed ears, lithe legs, slit pupils, but giant and loud and stinking so badly Brightpaw actually gagged. The other four cats had carved it up quite a bit, slashes criss-crossing its long legs and a scratch dripping along its muzzle, but it still wasn’t giving up.

During the split second of Brightpaw’s inaction, the cats spitting curses at the fox were distracted long enough for it to lunge, teeth bared at the white-and-grey cat with massive yellow eyes. 

Brightpaw didn’t hesitate, letting adrenaline and the thought of his father carry him into the fray. With courage he’d never felt before, he ran right up to the fox’s hindquarters, jaws parted wide, and bit into the middle of the fox’s tail.

The fox made a high-pitched squeal and tried to double around to snap at Brightpaw, but he was much too quick for the monster. He darted out of the fox’s reach and bit down on its tail harder, though the sight of its snapping jaws a whisker’s length from his face certainly terrified him. The fox kept trying to reach for him, too dumb to shake him off, and Brightpaw concentrated very hard on running backwards and keeping far away from the fox’s maw.

Brightpaw kept digging his teeth further and further into the fox’s flesh, until he decided to drag his teeth down the length of the tail to its tip. The fox stiffened and wailed in agony, and Brightpaw felt the warm gush of its awful blood run through his teeth. He hoped this would teach it a lesson about attacking cats!

He finally let the fox go, its tail now matted and bloody. It stumbled on its torn-up paws, shaking blood from its eyes and then taking off into the depths of the tundra, toward the mountains. He gave it a wordless hiss as it ran off.

The other cats around him whooped and cheered, swiping at the fox as it left. The silver tabby and the white-and-grey cat both turned towards the bloodied grey cat, tails flicking nervously.

“Logtail, is Grey alright?” the grey-and-white cat asked the cream-colored tom. “How are her wounds?”

“I don’t know! I-I don’t know! She got hit on the head, I don’t know!” The creamy tom, apparently Logtail, ducked his head and nosed at the other cat, who had evidently fallen unconscious. “I don’t think they’re deep? Maybe?”

“Where did you come from?” the blue-grey she-cat asked Brightpaw, her voice gruff, but he wasn’t listening. His blood was still thrumming in his ears, and something overtook him the moment he saw the injured she-cat.

“H-hold on, don’t touch her!” Brightpaw said, stopping the cats in their tracks as they attempted to sling the she-cat onto their backs. He stumbled on his paws shakily as he moved to examine the grey cat.

“Stop right there!” The tom, Logtail, hissed angrily at him and stood in his way, lashing his tail. Brightpaw ducked his head submissively and cowered.

“N-no!” he stuttered, then forced his voice to even out. “No, I’m not going to hurt her! I know some medicine for these types of wounds. See?” He turned to show his scarred back and rump, wounds he’d had to treat himself after being exiled.

“Let him through, Logtail,” the grey-and-white cat said. “He’s here to help.”

“He chased off the fox, after all!” the silver tabby chimed in, glancing at him with relief in her eyes. Brightpaw suddenly felt a surge of anxiety—he hoped he wouldn’t mess this up. The last thing he wanted was to cause another death.

Logtail moved to the side reluctantly, and Brightpaw stepped forward to check the cat’s condition. He checked her head first—her neck wasn’t broken, and she had no visible dents or gashes, which was very good if she’d been hit there—then gently parted the she-cat’s fur to take a look at her wounds.

“I-I think they might scar,” he said, trying to sound confident, “but she’ll survive. We need to treat her now though. Fox claws are filthy, sh-she could get an infection.”

“Do you know how to treat her? Will she die?” Logtail asked, his voice flipping from anger to panic. “Please, help her! I’ll do anything you ask, please!”

“I-it’s okay, there’s no need to panic! She won’t bleed out, and at most the infection will just make her sick for a while.”

“Sick? Sick? Will she survive?!”

“Please, calm down! If you panic, you won’t be able to help me.”

The silver tabby moved to Logtail’s side and leaned into him, whispering in his ear. He nodded and his shoulders relaxed, though his pelt still stood on end.

“Thank you, Silvermist. I’m sorry about that, stranger.” Logtail took a couple deep breaths to steady himself. “What do we need to do, uh…whatever your name is?”

“Brightpaw,” he answered. “And let me think for a moment.”

He reluctantly dug into his memories for the second time that day, looking for the plants Greylight had used to heal him, which he’d in turn found and used himself.

All at once, he saw blood in the snow and the glowering faces of his former Clanmates. He swayed a bit on his paws, then focused on Greylight’s words. He’d almost forgotten what the old tom looked like, and relief washed through him when he found he could still picture his warm one-eyed gaze. Slowly, he pieced together a list of the materials Greylight had used to heal him.

“Someone needs to go get cobwebs, a big mess of them,” he began. “And then I need some resin, and some spruce needles. I also need someone to go find pepperplant, but I don’t know where that would be.”

“Silvermist, you should go get the resin and needles,” the white-and-grey cat said, their tone serious. “There are spruce trees around Sanctuary, but be careful that Sand doesn’t see you, of course. wI’ll get the cobwebs, and Water, you should look for the pepperplant and stay nearby, since you’ve got a cut on your shoulder.”

“I can go to Sanctuary with Silvermist,” the blue-grey cat—Water—said, sounding insulted. Brightpaw winced as he noticed the deep gash between her shoulder blades, staining her fur black with sticky blood. “I’ll be fine!”

“You’re hurt, Water, I don’t want you to exhaust yourself! Plus, you’ll need to help protect Grey if the fox comes back, and there’s no doubt you’re the strongest of us all.”

“I…can’t deny that,” Water said, her chest swelling with pride. “Alright, I’ll stay and guard you three. Brightpaw, what does this ‘pepperplant’ stuff look like?”

“It’ll be harder to find, it blooms mostly in NoMoon, but I-I think there should be some around. They’re big white flowers with yellow centers, but the blooms are very poisonous! Make sure you only pull from the stems. I need the leaves, not the petals.”

Water nodded and took off into the Wasteland, head swiveling to look for the flowers. Silvermist and the white-and-grey cat took off in the opposite direction toward the lake. That left Brightpaw alone with Logtail and Grey, two strange cats who barely knew him, one of which was bleeding out as they waited idly. Brightpaw stared at her wounds numbly and wondered if he was giving the other cats false hope in his abilities.

Could he do this? Would he hurt this cat? Could he trust these strangers? Was he making a mistake?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to what I consider the TRUE beginning of Part 2, complete with some of my favorite characters! I'm so happy to finally be getting to this point in the narrative!
> 
> Additionally, the "white-and-grey cat" (whose name will be revealed next chapter!) is a character originally created by @roseslushies on Twitter! Go check him out, he's a great artist too!
> 
> You can find me on Twitter as @FionaBuny and on Tumblr as @Bloodinthetundra for art and updates, or even just to chat!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New friends.

###  Part Two, Chapter Fifteen

Logtail continued staring at the she-cat, Grey, as they waited, every hair on his pelt bristling. Brightpaw decided to try and make conversation; the tom was only upsetting himself by focusing so much on his wounded friend.

“So are you all new in the Wasteland?” Brightpaw asked, cutting through a heavy silence. “I haven’t seen you around before.”

It took Logtail a moment to realize Brightpaw was talking to him. He tore his gaze away from the young cat to size Brightpaw up again, his defensive glare resurfacing.

“None of us are new, no. But I haven’t seen you around, either. Where have you been hiding, stranger?”

“I-I’ve been living along the river,” Brightpaw said, stammering under Logtail’s scrutinizing gaze. “I haven’t seen many other cats at all, though.”

“Along the river!” Logtail’s ears twitched up in surprise. “There’s hardly any prey this close to Pack Hills. They all nest deeper in the tundra. I’m surprised you haven’t been devoured by the wolves yet! Are there even any fish in the river to eat?”

“I wouldn’t know. I wasn’t a member of FrostClan.” Brightpaw’s paw pads prickled with embarrassment. Had he been starving himself for no reason this whole time? Even worse, did the pack of wolves hunt around here  _ that _ often? Had he been in danger without even realizing it?

“How are you still alive?” Logtail was staring at Brightpaw in disbelief. “StarClan, you must be starving! No wonder you’re so skinny!”

Brightpaw ducked to lick at his chest fur in embarrassment, and while doing so he got a look at his stomach. He hadn’t even noticed it shrinking, but Logtail was right; he was just about skin and bones.

“Here, have this.” Logtail stretched over Grey and pawed at the earth, digging up a recently killed songbird. “The fox was here when we came back for it, but I doubt anyone is in the mood to eat right now.”

Brightpaw was too hungry to protest. He muttered his thanks to Logtail and then to StarClan before tucking into the bird, devouring it in a matter of moments. As he finished eating, the blue-gray she-cat, Water, and the white-and-grey cat returned. The she-cat was holding onto the pepperplant with the tips of her teeth, her lips were curled as far as they could go. She set down the flowers quickly, as if touching one petal would poison her instantly. Brightpaw decided it was better that she was overly cautious, and decided not to explain that pepperplant was only harmful if eaten. There were more pressing matters at hand.

“Thank you very much!” Brightpaw took the flowers from her and began pulling off their leaves, kneading and mashing them into a poultice with his front paws and claws the way he’d seen Greylight do on occasion with poisonous plants. He gently daubed the poultice onto Grey’s cuts, and the young cat seized under his touch.

“What are you doing? Why is she doing that?!” Logtail growled. Brightpaw flinched, but tried to stay calm—it was perfectly reasonable that this cat was protective of his friend.

“Pepperplant stings when it’s working,” Brightpaw said, swallowing a stutter. “She’s in a bit of pain, but it hurts much less than if the wound was left to fester. Trust me, she’s okay.”

Logtail nodded wordlessly and hunkered down next to Grey, resting his head on her shoulder and occasionally rasping his tongue against the back of her ear. Brightpaw continued working, though he jumped nearly out of his fur every time Grey’s unconscious body flinched from the sting of the poultice.

Brightpaw then took the stick of cobwebs from the white-and-grey cat, evidently their leader, and started cleaning off the wounds. The leader and Logtail, now much calmer, helped apply the cobwebs and hold them in place, though they muttered in horror when the first few pawfuls were quickly staunched with blood. Brightpaw deduced that whatever crimes these cats had committed, they couldn’t have been killers, not with such a strong aversion to blood and pain.

Finally, Silvermist came back with a huge spruce branch, needles stuck in her fur. She explained that she’d wrenched the branch from the tree herself, in order to get fresh resin. As Brightpaw sealed some of Grey’s smaller cuts, he quietly told her that scraping old resin off the trunk would have sufficed, staring at her in wonder and fear. She seemed like such a gentle cat at first glance—was she really strong enough to rip a branch off a tree  _ by herself _ ?

As Brightpaw worked, Logtail finally left Grey’s side, and began muttering into his leader’s ear. Brightpaw only briefly noticed, catching the words “all alone” passing between the two, before refocusing on his work. By the time he was finished, Grey had relaxed and her wounds looked much better.

“The rest of the resin and the spruce needles are for her to chew on,” he explained. “When she wakes up, she’ll be in some bad pain while the cuts heal, but chewing on those will help distract her.”

“We can’t thank you enough,” the white-and-grey cat said with a purr. “You’re a noble cat, Brightpaw. I’m Avalanche, by the way. Nice to meet you!”

Brightpaw stuttered out a greeting of some sort, unable to process his own words. Of all the names he’d ever been called,  _ noble _ was certainly not on the long list. The kindness reminded him of his father, of Greylight, of the few other cats who had ever been nice to him, and it took him a moment to refocus on Avalanche’s words.

“Our little group has really taken a liking to you, I’d say,” Avalanche was saying. “And Logtail tells me you haven’t been faring well on your own. Would you like to join us, even for a little bit? We’d be happy to help you.”

“U-um, I’m not, uh, I really don’t know….” Brightpaw couldn’t figure out how to politely decline the offer. He didn’t want to disappoint these lovely cats by admitting to his crimes of cowardice, but he couldn’t dump his dead weight onto such a small group. He couldn’t fight anything smarter than a rabbit and could barely hunt—how could he be useful enough to justify taking up precious freshkill in this place?

“Really, there’s no pressure!” Avalanche said, their expression soft and inviting. “You could even visit sometimes, if you aren’t one for company.” Something about them put Brightpaw at ease…all the more reasons not to curse them with his uselessness.

“I-I can maybe, uh, think about it?” Brightpaw managed to say, worried that he would let down the four cats. He shut his eyes and waited for hisses of reproach.

“Of course! There’s no rush, we’re always looking for new friends,” Silvermist said. “Logtail, do you need help carrying Grey? Water and I can do it.”

Brightpaw opened his eyes to see Water nodding curtly to him and following Silvermist. Avalanche bumped noses gently with Brightpaw.

“We hope to see you again sometime!” they said, prancing away to lead the group deeper into the tundra. “Come find us if you ever need company!”

Brightpaw simply sat there, dumbfounded, and watched the four cats leave, the two she-cats slow under the bulk of the injured cat on their backs. He stayed there until they disappeared into the distant grasses, then slowly stood and began the trek back to his rock, trying to make sense of it all.

What sort of cats were they? Why were they so open, so inviting? Brightpaw thought the scarring on his hind end would’ve easily given away how awful he was as a warrior, but they hardly gave it a second glance. They’d clearly been trying to recruit him, so perhaps they were only that kind to draw him in? Or maybe they were trying to trick him somehow, though Brightpaw couldn’t fathom what motivation they had. At least Marrow had been straightforward with his grift; if these cats were trying to lure him in with kindness, they were truly masterminds of manipulation. Those strange names—Water, Grey, Avalanche—were likely cover-ups for their real identities.

_ Or maybe _ , thought Brightpaw,  _ I’m overthinking it, and they’re simply just  _ that _ kind. _

One thing was certain now, though: the Wasteland was not as empty as he’d thought.

By this point in his musings the sun had just about set. Brightpaw had reached his “den” and stared at it, numb. Then he hopped on top of it, the cold of the rock seeping into his paw pads, and stared out at the tundra. He could almost trick himself into thinking the Wasteland was beautiful; without the trees, he could see the whole of Silverpelt shining down, all of his ancestors watching over him in his exile. The grasses and trees were painted blue and white in the moonlight, and rolled like a current of water with the wind.

Brightpaw hadn’t given much thought to StarClan in his many moons of exile. He simply believed that he had forsaken them, or they had forsaken him, perhaps. He wondered if the Wasteland was open and uncovered so that they could look down on him and judge him for his crimes. But then, why would they send him such kind cats for even a moment if they meant to punish him? He regretted not staying with Avalanche’s group for at least a few days, just to see. What if he’d ignored a sign of mercy from StarClan?

Brightpaw leapt down from the rock and curled underneath it, his bones creaking against stones and hard earth. His stomach was the fullest it had been in moons, and he decided that this would be his last night in this horrible den.

_ If StarClan is going to judge me _ , he thought as he fell asleep,  _ then I ought to do my best and give them a worthwhile life to judge. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little late but here they are! I really love this crew, I'm so excited to be sharing them all with you. I hope you're all doing well this week!
> 
> You can find me on Twitter as @FionaBuny and on Tumblr as @Bloodinthetundra for art and updates, or even just to chat!


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